Second Life
by Elwing-Evenstar
Summary: Elrond suffers from a feeling of emptiness after the War of the Ring. He finds that he is in grave danger, and his only hope is to live his life again in two bodies, past and present. But even with aid from the Valar, will both halves of him survive?
1. The Valar's Visit

**Prologue: The Valar's Visit**

It was a dark, cold night in Rivendell. A grey torrent of rain splattered down on the Last Homely House, echoing the dreary mood of the Lord within. Elrond Half-elven sat in his study, gazing down at an open book on the desk before him and not taking in so much as a word. He felt absolutely miserable.

But _why?_ The War was over; the Ring had been destroyed years ago. Arwen was happily married to the man she loved, and Gondor finally had a King again (who was in fact the man Elrond's daughter had wed). He shouldn't have been feeling that way, really…

But things were different in Imladris. The Elves were preparing to leave Middle-earth for ever; their time was now at an end. The Fourth Age was the Age of Men. Elrond, as the Keeper of Vilya, one of the Rings of Power, had accepted that. And Valinor was where his wife was waiting for him; she had fled over the Sea millennia ago. So why was he so cheerless?

"Ada?"

Elrond turned his head to look at the elf who had just opened the door, a tall, dark-haired figure with shining grey eyes. It was the Elf-lord's elder son, Elladan; that meant that his twin, Elrohir, could not be far off.

Elrond sighed gloomily. "Hello, _ion nin._" (my son)

"Is something wrong, Ada?" asked Elladan in concern. "You look so sad."

"I am," his father replied softly. "But I don't know why. Lately I've been feeling… well, empty. I can't really explain it – it's dark, and achy. Like hunger, but in the heart instead of the stomach… I just can't help but feel that I haven't done anything of importance in my lifetime."

"Don't say that!" cried a shocked Elladan. "You've done lots of important things! You fought in the Battle of the Last Alliance, you created this haven and kept it safe; you took care of Aragorn when he was just a child…"

"You healed Mother's poisoned wounds from that orc attack under Caradhras," piped up a voice similar to Elladan's, coming from the hall. A second elf appeared in the doorway, who looked identical to the first. And for good reason – it was Elladan's twin brother, Elrohir.

Elladan nodded earnestly at his brother's remark. "Right! And you healed Frodo when he was stabbed on Weathertop; you organized the Council, and brought Anduril to Aragorn so he could help Minas Tirith. You gave Gondor back its King."

Elrond forced a smile. "Thank you for trying, but I still feel like none of that was _me_. It feels like someone else did it all."

"_We_ know it was you," said Elrohir sincerely. He placed a kindly hand on his father's shoulder; his brother followed suit.

This time Elrond's smile was genuine. "_Hennaed._" (Thanks.)

The twins nodded, backing out of the room. No doubt their father would like some rest; he had looked about ready to nod off in his chair.

As soon as his sons were gone, that's exactly what the Elf-lord did. His piercing blue eyes glazed over, and his ebony hair fell over his face as his head fell forward on his chest; he slid silently into the velvet embrace of a dream…

----

_Elrond's vision was veiled in grey, as if someone had hung a smoky curtain around the world. He drifted for a moment in the silence, but turned at the sight of two approaching figures._

_The first person was clothed in deep grey, just a shade darker than the mist that flowed around them. The hair that fell to the broad shoulders was like spun silver; two blue eyes in the ageless face bored into Elrond's heart._

_The second figure's raiment was of black, as was the long, straight hair that framed the pale face. The eyes beneath the thin brows glinted like obsidian. Both figures' faces were grim._

_Elrond gasped and fell to the ground – was there even ground beneath him? – when he realized that the two people before him were in fact the _Fëanturi;_ of the Valar, Masters of Spirits. The first was Lórien, Master of Desires and Dreams; the second was Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar._

_Lórien then spoke, in a voice soft and soothing to the ear. "Elrond son of Eärendil, arise. We bear grave news to you this night."_

"_Have I died in my sleep?" Elrond asked apprehensively, standing up and gazing into the glittering eyes of Mandos._

"_Nay, you are yet alive," Mandos replied. "But the word we bring is of an ill nature. Do you know of my wife, Vairë the Weaver?"_

_Elrond nodded. "Yes, my Lord." Vairë the Weaver created great tapestries depicting all things that had ever occurred in the world, and decorated Mandos' halls with them. But why was it important to him?_

"_We have come," said Lórien, "to tell you that you are in great danger. Many of Vairë's tapestries involve you, Elrond; and it is those tapestries that will be your doom. _

"_For even as I speak, you are disappearing from every tapestry of your existence, one by one. If the fading reaches you in this moment, you will vanish from the very design of the world, without hope of renewal."_

_Elrond's throat tightened; he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. But Mandos went on where his brother had halted._

"_But even now there is still hope," said he. "The Valar and Valier have held a council; it has been decided that you shall be sent back through the ages to the very day of your birth. From there shall live your life through again. But there will be one difference; you shall remain in your present body, even as you are born and grow."_

_Elrond frowned at a vivid vision of himself, as he was (though much smaller), emerging with a pealing cry from his mother's womb. Lórien, having seemingly read the elf's mind, shook his head with a sudden laugh._

"_Nay, not like that!" he cried. "You will be in two bodies; one of the present, and one of the past. One body shall remain unchanged as the other grows and matures from infancy. But you must not stray too far apart from yourself, for it would be disastrous."_

_Elrond nodded understandingly. "How will I get to the place of my birth?"_

"_We shall guide you there," the brothers spoke together. "Take our hands."_

_The elf did so, wonderingly; Lórien's hand was warm in his, and Mandos' was cool. For a moment all was still, and then the Spirit-Masters softly intoned strange words in an unknown tongue. Instinctively Elrond closed his eyes._

_The Valar's chanting grew louder, and in a jolting instant Elrond felt himself being drawn forward (or was it backward?). After what seemed an eternity, and yet no time at all, his feet were on firm ground. _

_Once his head stopped spinning, the elf slowly opened his eyes…_


	2. Children of Sirion

**Chapter One: Children of Sirion**

Elrond could hardly believe his eyes as he stood blinking in the sunlight over Sirion, the place of his birth. He noticed he and the Valar were on a flat, paved path, near a curve that wound out of sight along the side of a hill on which they stood.

Mandos and Lórien released his hands and stood beside the elf as he stared around in wonder. Green hills rolled down to the shores of the Sea that sparkled turquoise in the bright morning. A cool breeze rippled the air, refreshing Elrond.

"Was I really born here?" he marvelled.

Lórien nodded. "You were indeed, and on this day as well."

"What day is it?" the elf asked.

"The fourth of April, in the year five hundred twenty-five of the First Age of the Sun," replied Mandos. "And if I am not mistaken, you will be born in precisely fifteen minutes, just around the corner from where we now stand."

"You are correct, brother," nodded Lórien. "It is seven minutes past the eighth hour."

Elrond stood in silent wonderment. Here he was, over six thousand years old, and waiting to be born! It was almost overwhelming.

"It is wondrous, is it not?" said Lórien casually. "I can understand how you might be overcome by the shock of it. Such a thing has not happened in all the years of the world, counted or not."

Elrond turned to look at the Valar beside him. He noticed for the first time that in this light, Mandos' hair, eyes and cloak, which had all seemed pure black, now glimmered with the darkest hues of the spectrum – green, blue, purple and even red. And they caught the light oddly, so that each shimmered with a different shade. The effect when he moved was mesmerizing, the colors softly shifting.

Elrond was jolted to reality as a scream rang out. The elf leapt forth, but Mandos caught him by the shoulder. "Be not alarmed; it is your mother. Soon you shall see the world for the first time – a second time."

To any other person at any other time, this would have made no sense whatsoever. But Elrond understood perfectly. Another cry rent the air, and Elrond's keen ears caught the sound of a voice speaking, the tones brimming with excitement.

"We need another healer! I think there will be two!"

Lórien nudged Elrond forward. "Go on."

The elf bowed respectfully to the Valar before hurrying around the corner.

A tall, dark-haired elf rushed up to him, gasping breathlessly, "Are you a healer, sir?"

"I am," Elrond nodded. "What seems to be the trouble, sir?"

"My name is Eärendil," the elf replied. "My wife, Elwing, is having children. I had only counted on one child, but it seems she has twins. We're short a pair of hands. Could you help?"

"Of course," Elrond said, hastening after the elf. Eärendil – his _father!_ Together they rushed toward the source of all the excitement.

Eärendil led Elrond into a house around the bend. A pregnant elf-woman lay gasping upon a couch, obviously in labour, surrounded by anxious elves. Her chocolate-coloured hair was plastered to her face with perspiration, but her silver-blue eyes were bright.

Eärendil led Elrond forward to his wife's side. Elrond gazed lovingly at the woman who was, and soon would be again, his mother.

"Elwing," said Eärendil, grasping his wife's hand. "Are you all right?"

Elwing nodded, a faint sob escaping her throat.

"I'm fine, love," she gasped. "Ohh—" She gave another cry of anguish.

Elrond winced. Was it really this difficult? He tried to recall the birth of his own twins, but the memory was so vague.

Elwing's labour did not, thank the Valar, last for too much longer. Nearly a quarter of an hour later, Eärendil spoke the fateful words:

"All right, Elwing, once more… Push!"

Elwing wailed again, but the child did not come. Was something wrong? Had the baby slid into a position that kept it from leaving the womb?

"Elrond," said Eärendil. "Come here."

The elf moved hesitantly forward, and his father went on, "Your hands are smaller than mine. I need you to guide the baby out. Can you do that?"

Elrond tried hard to mask his nervousness. "Yes."

"Thank you." Eärendil glanced over at his wife, seeking her assent; she nodded breathlessly, her face pained.

Elrond slid Vilya from his finger and put the ring into his pocket for safekeeping, then prayed silently to the Valar – any that were listening – as he went to work.

He knew that in order for the child to emerge safely from the womb, it had to be facing headfirst. But the unborn infant had turned so that the side of its head, not the top, was toward him. This was not good.

Carefully the half-elf tried to shift the baby's body without harming it. So far, so good. A few moments later he withdrew his hands, rinsing them in a bowl of water an elf offered him. Replacing Vilya on his finger, Elrond spoke to his mother in an exhilarated voice.

"There," he said. "It's all right now, my lady." _Mother, _he corrected himself mutely.

Elwing nodded, and gave another pained cry.

Elrond cringed, both in concern and pain. His whole body suddenly felt as if it was being squeezed by an enormous hand, or like he was wriggling through an extremely narrow hole.

And as the sensation passed, another voice was raised in a piercing howl.

"It's a boy!" cried one of the elves nearby.

Elrond's heartbeat quickened. _Happy birthday to me!_ he thought. _Would this be a once-in-a-lifetime, or twice-in-a-lifetime experience?_

Eärendil gently rocked his newborn son in his arms, and Elrond, watching them, felt as if he were swaying as well. He wondered if this was a side-effect of the time travel, like the odd squeezing feeling he had experienced before.

But Elwing was gasping again; the second twin was on its way to the world beyond the womb. Eärendil carefully handed the babe to Elrond before moving to help his wife.

The half-elf gazed down at the child in his arms, who was staring at him through bright blue eyes. Elrond couldn't hold back a smile. _Hello, me._ He laughed as the infant's tiny fingers closed around Vilya. The baby was single-mindedly intent on getting the ring off the half-elf's hand.

Elrond was delighted. "Accepted your destiny already, have you?" he murmured, so no-one else could hear.

The baby gurgled happily as Elrond spoke. But then two more mingled cries arose from mother and child; the second twin had been born.

Eärendil's face glowed with pride as he held his younger son, smiling at Elrond who held the elder. Elwing's breathing had returned to normal; a nearby elf was gently bathing perspiration from her face. She smiled as Elrond handed her child to her.

"Thank you," she said to the half-elf. "If it weren't for you, my children would never have made it into the world. Might I have your name?"

"My name is Elrond," he replied.

"Elrond," Elwing nodded. "A noble name indeed; and you shall share it with my elder son, if it pleases you."

"It would be an honour, my lady," Elrond smiled. Things were working out well so far.

"Very well," said Elwing decisively, gazing lovingly down at the infant nestled in her arms. "Elrond you shall be."

"And you, little one," said her husband fondly to the babe he held, "shall be named Elros. And Master Elrond," he added, glancing at the elf-lord. "If it pleases you, I would like to name you godfather of our children. For it is by your hands that they were guided into the world."

"Again, I would be honoured, sire," Elrond said solemnly. "But if you will give me leave, I was in the midst of conversing with two very esteemed friends when I heard word of your wife."

"Then bid them come here," spoke up Elwing. "For a great feast shall be held tonight, in honour of our sons."

"I will certainly ask my comrades to attend," said Elrond, with a courteous bow to her. "Good day, my lady… my lord," he added, glancing briefly at Eärendil before he left.


	3. The Celebration Begins

**Chapter Two: The Celebration Begins**

Elrond practically skipped back to where Lórien and Mandos were calmly awaiting his return. He had never before felt so alive! This was like a wonderful dream – but certainly nothing in the wildest reaches of his mind could compare to it.

The half-elf composed himself swiftly as he came before the waiting Valar, and with a bow related what had occurred in his parents' house.

"Well done," Lórien smiled, once he had finished. "You are your own godfather? Most unusual."

"But most helpful," said Mandos pointedly. "For as godfather to himself and his brother, Elrond will be required to be near them, should his parents run into any… difficulty."

Elrond couldn't help but shudder, for he knew exactly what the Doomsman was talking about. He quickly changed the subject.

"My lords, it is my father's request that the three of us attend a feast tonight in his house, in honour of El— I mean, _my_ birth, and my brother's. It will be at six this evening, if you are interested…"

The two brothers gazed pensively at each other, seemingly conversing through a complex series of eyebrow-movements. Elrond was secretly impressed.

Mandos finally nodded slowly, the color of his darkly shimmering eyes shifting from deepest green to purplish blue and back again. "Perhaps we could make time. What say you?" he asked, turning to his brother.

The Master of Dreams nodded as well. "I agree," he said. "But it is nearly ten hours until then. For now, Elrond, we bid you farewell, and fair fortune."

"Thank you, my lords," Elrond replied with a bow. "Farewell, until tonight."

"Until tonight," the Fëanturi echoed. Then in a swirl of grey and almost-black, the Valar were gone.

----

When Elrond returned to his parents' home, it was abuzz with jubilation; apparently word of him had spread, for he was set upon by a dozen curious elves before even crossing the threshold.

Every one seemed keen to turn him blue in the face from answering questions, but all he could do was stutter oddly between barrages. At last Eärendil came to his rescue.

"Enough!" he cried, laughing. "Let him by! You will hear the full tale later tonight." The elf's tone held a silent request to Elrond: _You will tell it, won't you?_

The half-elf nodded, answering his father aloud. "Of course."

Eärendil smiled and nodded appreciatively, then turned as Elwing came softly up behind him, smiling briefly at her husband before addressing Elrond. "Master Elrond, I wish to speak with you."

"Of what, M—my lady?" Elrond caught himself just in time to keep the word _Mother _from escaping him. He didn't dare slip up.

"Of you," she replied. "I don't remember seeing you anywhere in Sirion before. Are you a newcomer here?"

Elrond nodded. "Yes, my lady, I am. I come from a land very far from here, in the west foothills of the _Hithaeglin_." (the Misty Mountains)

"Have you been here long?" Elwing asked.

"No, my lady. I had only just arrived when your husband…" the elf nodded briefly to Eärendil, "…found me and brought me here. In fact, I was rather lost."

His mother nodded, and Eärendil then spoke to him questioningly. "So you have no other lodgings?"

Elrond shook his head. "No, my lord." _Father_, he thought, refusing to let his pain show itself in his eyes. He was face-to-face with his parents, and couldn't even address them as such!

"I see." Eärendil stroked his chin pensively. "In that case, you are more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you will."

Elrond smiled. "Thank you, sire, I will indeed. By the way," he added, "I've spoken with my comrades, and they both agreed to join the celebration tonight."

"Excellent," said his father. "Be sure to point them out when they arrive."

----

The rest of the day passed in a whirl. Elrond aided his parents dutifully in caring for the newborn twins; while Elwing handled the feeding, he and Eärendil caringly settled the infants down for naps and changed soiled linens.

At ten minutes to six, Elrond found himself looking around for any signs of Lórien and Mandos' arrival. Would they announce their presence boldly, or just slip subtly in?

"Master Elrond…" The voice stirred him gently from his musings. A young elleth was beckoning to him. Elrond couldn't help but notice her vivid, flame-coloured hair. "The feast is beginning shortly, sir."

Elrond nodded, glancing nonchalantly out of the nearest window as he passed it. By the sun, it was very close to six.

_Maybe they just want to be perfectly on time, _Elrond assured himself. It wouldn't be at all surprising.

The elleth led him to the banquet hall; it was packed with elves, both guests and servants. Many long tables filled the chamber, at which the guests sat and around which servants crept meekly.

Overseeing the goings-on were Eärendil and Elwing. They smiled and nodded to Elrond as he entered; his mother summoned him to a chair by her side before addressing him.

"Have your friends arrived yet?" she asked. "It's nearly time."

Elrond dutifully scanned the hall, seeing no sign of either Lórien or Mandos. Were they busy? Was someone dead, or perhaps dreaming?

"They don't seem to be here, my lady," he told Elwing. "But I'm sure they will be soon."

Elwing frowned slightly at him. "If they plan to arrive at precisely six, that gives them about one -and-a-half minutes."

Elrond nodded silently, beginning a mute countdown from ninety. _Eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven…_

"Esteemed guests," said Eärendil, rising. "I am most pleased to announce that today is a day of great cause for revelry. Today is the birthday of my twin sons, Elrond and Elros."

A cheer arose from the seated elves. Eärendil waited for it to fade before he spoke again. "It is also my honour to introduce to you, the elf without whom this would not have been possible – Master Elrond, if you would stand…"

He did, to tumultuous applause from the onlookers. Feeling his ears reddening, he cleared his throat and began, "Lord Eärendil has requested that I relate the story of how I aided Lady Elwing in bringing her children into the world. And so I shall.

"I had just arrived in Sirion after journeying from the northeast, when Lord Eärendil told me that Lady Elwing was having twins when only one child had been expected. When we reached her, it was clear that…"

He broke off as he realized his countdown had reached zero. In the same moment, there was a voice.

"Forgive the interruption… we are not tardy, I hope?"

A hundred pairs of eyes became riveted on the two tall figures at the far end of the hall. One was silver-haired, and robed in storm-cloud grey; the other's hair and garments were all the shades of midnight. Both wore questioning expressions, aimed in the direction of a certain elven lord.

Elrond finally shattered the stillness. Bowing low to the newcomers, he addressed all the elves in the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, smiling, "it is my deepest pleasure and honour to introduce to you two _very_ esteemed lords, who have come all the way from Valinor for this joyous occasion – the lords Lórien and Mandos."


	4. Revelry and Prophecy

**Chapter Three: Revelry and Prophecy**

Complete, stunned silence reigned for a surprisingly short time, and then everyone in the hall bowed. The Fëanturi smiled calmly, and Lórien spoke.

"You need not bow, Children of Eru," he said kindly. "We come to you as equals, not as superiors. By all means, continue your merriment. Master Elrond," he added, glancing at the lord in question, "I hope we were not late?"

The elf shook his head. "No, sire, you were exactly on time – to the second. Won't you please sit down, my lords?"

Both Valar smiled. "Very well," said Mandos, his eyes glimmering pleasantly.

Eärendil and Elwing glanced briefly at each other, then promptly rose and stepped back from their seats at the High Table.

Lórien waved his hand dismissively. "Nay, we shall not force you from your places. Any empty seats will suffice."

Eärendil, trying not to look too baffled, nodded toward two vacant chairs on either side of himself and Elrond. Mandos sat on Eärendil's left, and Lórien on Elrond's right. Elrond sat down again, and Eärendil bade the celebration begin.

Between bites of food, sips of wine and conversations with his comrades and kinfolk, the half-elf heard the whispers of the guests. If he listened hard enough, he caught snatches of what they were saying.

"…he think he is? Inviting the Fëanturi to dinner as if he were one of their own!"

"I'd like to know _how_ in Arda he managed that."

"…unusual, that's what he is. He turns up out of nowhere, just when he's needed. It's not normal…"

"Something definitely funny about him, I've no doubt of it…"

"_And_ they say he's the godfather of Lord Eärendil's children."

"Next thing you know, he'll be strutting around like he owns the place…"

Elrond tuned them out, glancing at his mother and striking up a conversation; he needed the noise to block out the indignant hisses that plagued his ears.

"How are the children doing?" he asked.

"Fine – they're in the middle of a nap," she replied. "Do you know how long it will take before they'll sleep through the night?"

"Three or four years, I think."

"_Four years!?_" Elwing gasped.

Elrond nodded sagely. "Oh, yes. I know all about that, believe me."

"Do you have children, Lord Elrond?" she asked.

"Yes, three. I have two sons, Elladan and Elrohir, also twins; and a younger daughter, Arwen. They're all grown now, and my daughter is married." It wasn't really a lie; it just hadn't happened yet.

Elwing nodded, sipping from her glass of wine. "I see."

"Elrond," murmured Lórien in the half-elf's ear. "The guests do not seem pleased with your decision to invite my brother and I to this feast."

"I can hear them," the elf nodded, disdain furrowing his brow. "'Strutting around like I own the place,' indeed."

"Have you been?" the Vala inquired.

"In all honesty, no. I actually spent the better part of today changing my own dirty linens. A most unusual experience, I must say."

"Hmm."

Lórien glanced past the elf, to where Mandos was frowning at him. The Doomsman's left eyebrow was twitching significantly. The Master of Dreams understood perfectly.

Turning back to Elrond, he said in a near whisper, "The thing you fear will happen four years hence. There in the dark you shall meet friend and foe. Beware the one with hair of flame; Gold-cleaver is your ally."

Elrond knew better than to ask what Lórien's words meant. Prophecies always unravelled themselves, albeit often too late.

----

The festivities lasted long into the night. The moon was high in the star-speckled heavens when the last of the guests chose to retire – Elrond, Lórien and Mandos. The Fëanturi were given a fond farewell by the Lord and Lady of the household, and by Elrond.

Before he departed, Mandos spoke these words in private to the half-elf:

"We shall always be near if you need aid. Remember not to stray far from yourself, nor let yourself stray far from you, lest the bond break and the quest fail. The gap is already shrinking. Live well."

"Thank you, my lord," said Elrond, bowing. "Farewell."

Mandos removed his shimmering cloak and handed it to the elf, who accepted it warily. A slight frown of confusion hovered about his lips.

"It will help you," Mandos told him. "When you wear this cloak, you will be invulnerable to injury. But that does not mean you will be any stronger than you are without it. The cloak can still be taken from you."

Elrond nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Lord Mandos."

"Use it well," said Mandos. "Remember my brother's prophecy."

"I will," the elf vowed.

The Doomsman nodded once, a tiny smile upon his thin lips. "Happy birthday, Elrond."

----

Elrond kept Mandos' cloak hidden from all others, as he really didn't want to spread any more rumors through Sirion. No doubt his name was known all across the Haven now.

"I know they're wrong," he said aloud, as he rocked his infant self to sleep for the night. "I don't _strut. _So what if I'm your… _my_… godfather?" He glanced down at the babe as he spoke. "Why does it matter?"

Elrond the Second, as the child became known, blinked quizzically up at the elf who held him. Elrond the First gave a sigh.

"They wouldn't understand," he murmured. "How could they possibly understand that we're one? I'm you, and you're me. Just in two bodies."

Elrond II gurgled sleepily around the tiny thumb he had just placed in his mouth.

Elrond I smiled quietly. "You're right. Why listen to them?"

The infant didn't answer, for he was sound asleep. The elf-lord felt a slow feeling of calm content steal over him as he laid his young self in the cradle next to Elros.

"Sleep well," he yawned, tiptoeing unnecessarily away from the slumbering babes. "_Quel fuin, hiril nin,_" (Good night, my lady) he added, as Elwing entered the bedroom to check on her children.

"_Milui elei,_" (Pleasant dreams) she smiled.

"And the same to you," he replied politely. "And you, my lord," he said, turning his head as Eärendil approached.

His father smiled, nodding to Elrond as he followed his wife into the bedchamber. The half-elf then retired to a guest bedroom nearby.

Gazing up at the ceiling as he lay in bed, Elrond smiled to himself. This had been a most eventful birthday. Being born for the second time, and celebrating with two of the Valar. A truly memorable day. And there were many, many more to come. He was sure of that.


	5. Servants and Lords

**Chapter Four: Servants and Lords**

A shrill wail woke Elrond not two hours later. He scrambled out of bed and hurried to his parents' room to investigate.

Nearly tripping over the threshold, he regained his balance and composure as Elwing bent over the cradle next to her bedside. Gathering a child into her arms, she gave the elf-lord a smile as she sat on the edge of the bed next to Eärendil, who seemed to be still asleep.

"Elros is thirsty," Elwing explained in a whisper. "Was there something you needed?"

"I just heard him crying and came to see what was amiss," Elrond replied. "But I see you have it under control."

She nodded, smiling. "You needn't worry too much. But I appreciate your concern."

He nodded also. "Well, as I'm not urgently needed, I think I'll just…" The elf-lord turned to leave.

"Don't go," said Eärendil, sitting up; it appeared he'd been listening. "I've been meaning to speak with you about what occurred at dinner yesterday. Am I right in assuming that the guests you invited were the lords Mandos and Lórien?"

"Yes," Elrond replied. "You're right."

"How is it that you were deep enough in their counsel to be able to do such a thing in such a casual manner?"

This time the half-elf took awhile to reply.

"I… it's a long story. I don't know if it would be right to tell you right now. No offence meant," he added hastily. "But it's very, very complicated."

Eärendil nodded slowly. "I see. Perhaps you will tell us when you feel the time is right... and perhaps not. But I won't press you."

"Then I'll take my leave," said Elrond. "Thank you, and good night." He gave a polite bow before he left.

----

"Master Elrond?"

The elf-lord woke to the soft feminine voice after a sound and restful sleep. Blinking in the sunlight that was pouring in from the open window, he smiled when he recognized the redheaded elleth who had directed him to the banquet hall the previous evening.

"_Quel aur,_" (Good morning) he said brightly.

Blushing scarlet, she returned the greeting. "Did you rest well, _hir nin?_" (my lord)

"Very well," he replied, getting up from the bed, stretching and picking up a comb from his bedside table.

As Elrond tidied his hair, he observed the young elleth making his bed. Her movements were smooth and automatic; it was clear she'd done this hundreds of times before.

"What is your name, miss?" he asked conversationally.

The elleth jumped and blushed again, looking embarrassed at being addressed formally. She busied herself straightening the already wrinkle-free blankets for a short while before she replied, "My name is Caranel."

"'Red Star.' A fitting name," Elrond nodded, eyeing her fiery locks. A sudden, hostile thought came to him, a snippet of a prophecy. _Beware the ones with hair of flame…_

_Stop it, _he chided himself. _Remember the rest of the prophecy? It hasn't been four years, only a few hours. You're fine._

"Is something wrong, Master Elrond?" Caranel asked, now fluffing the pillows on the bed without looking.

"No," the elf-lord replied, shaking his head. "I was just lost in thought for a moment."

Caranel nodded. "That can happen."

Finished with the pillows, she smoothed a tiny wrinkle in the bedspread before turning to Elrond and bobbing a curtsy. "Shall I fetch you some breakfast, sir? Is there anything specific you'd like?"

"Nothing fancy," he told her. "Some fresh fruit and buttered toast will be fine, and a glass of water."

"_Be iest lin,_" (As you wish) the elleth nodded, and departed softly.

Elrond sat carefully on the edge of the perfectly-made bed, considering his plans for the day. Care for the babies, possibly talk with Lórien and Mandos, and do anything in his power to keep rumours of his exploits from reaching every pointed ear in Sirion. Hmm… well, it could use a little work.

And there were still a few nagging feelings wrestling inside him. One was the warning Lórien had given him last night; the other was the insistent urge to tell someone why he was _really_ in Sirion. But how was he to know if people would believe him?

He was jolted back to reality by Caranel's return. She stalked through the door in a huff, but it melted to compassion and perhaps pity as she approached Elrond and set his plate on the bedside table. He saw it held four slices of toast, and several slices and chunks of fruit arranged neatly around a goblet of water.

"Long faces only belong on horses," Elrond told her calmly. "_Man le trasta?_" (What troubles you?)

Caranel sighed dejectedly. "You wouldn't like it."

"Tell me," said Elrond, slightly more sternly. "I insist."

"Very well," the elleth complied. "There was a bit of trouble in the kitchens. It seems all of the other servants are deathly afraid of you. What with you inviting the Fëanturi to the celebration last night, they think you'll bring us all to doom."

"So, it appears you'll be my personal servant, then," Elrond smiled, casually selecting a bit of apple from the plate and nibbling on it. "I won't be hard on you, I promise."

Caranel smiled briefly. "Thank you, but there's still more. When I told the head cook who your breakfast was for, he practically shoved me out of the kitchen, yelling, 'Better to feed that to the dogs than that elf! He'll bring the Haven down on our heads and call on Mandos to reap the harvest!'

"It was awful, sir," she lamented, sinking down onto the bed. "I was _grateful _when he slammed the door behind me. Grateful! They think you're a curse waiting to happen, a spider lurking in its web."

"Well, what do _you_ think?" Elrond asked.

"Me?" cried Caranel, looking shocked at being asked her opinion. "Sir, I think – in fact I know – that you are possibly the best thing that has happened to this Haven! You saved Lady Elwing's children, and she herself! Who knows what might have happened to the three of them if you hadn't been here?"

"You can praise Lord Eärendil for that," Elrond told her. "He was the one who found me. I had been hopelessly lost when he came up to me and told me of Lady Elwing. Speaking of which, how is she?"

"She's fine," Caranel replied. "So are Lord Eärendil and the young princes."

Elrond smiled. "Good."

He finished his meal, watched silently by Caranel. She picked up his empty plate and goblet with a polite curtsy and softly left the room, just as two figures materialized before him.

"Good morning, my lords," said Elrond politely, bowing low to Mandos and Lórien. The Valar nodded their heads in reply, and something that had been nagging at the back of Elrond's mind came softly to the front of it.

"Lord Mandos?" he said tentatively.

"Yes?"

Elrond forced himself to meet the Doomsman's shimmering blue-green gaze. "I've been wondering… what exactly would happen if I wandered just a bit too far from myself? And how far is too far?"

"You will be safe anywhere within an approximate five-mile radius," Mandos informed him. "As for the consequences of exceeding that… observe."

Reaching into his robe, the Vala pulled out a handkerchief which seemed to be made of the same glimmering fabric as his cloak. Holding it out between his thumbs and forefingers, he slowly moved his hands further apart.

The cloth, unable to stand the stress, soon ripped in two. Mandos cast the pieces aside, saying calmly, "Am I clear?"

Elrond nodded, watching the scraps float down like the torn wings of a raven. "Crystal."

----

"Look, there he is…"

"The Valar's best friend?"

"That's right. The princes' godfather."

"Didn't Lady Elwing name one of her children after him?"

The whispered conversations that drifted into Elrond's keen ears made his neck prickle. He willed himself to stay calm, to resist turning around. That would be asking for trouble.

He sped up slightly from his leisurely pace when he saw his father ahead of him. The elf leant against a wall, arms folded over his chest, apparently brooding. He looked up as Elrond called his name.

"Good morning," the Lord of Sirion said, his face breaking into a smile. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," Elrond replied. "And yourself?"

"Actually, I was thinking about something I remember hearing at the banquet last night," Eärendil replied. "I heard some of the guests saying to each other that you've been… how did they put it… 'strutting like you own the place'?"

"That, sir, is a load of rubbish," Elrond retorted hotly. "You should know; you were with me for the better part of the day."

"I know that, and you know that," Eärendil said calmly. "But it seems that the majority of my people do not. Have you heard anything of the like?"

Elrond nodded. "A young servant girl, Caranel, told me that your head cook believes I'll bring your Haven to doom; but she herself thinks I'm a blessing. What do you make of that?"

Eärendil nodded pensively. "Caranel is a kind soul; she hates to put anyone down. I think in this case she was being perfectly honest."

"And what of the rest? Rumors start small, but they often blossom beyond control. How will we handle it?"

"Just leave that to me."

"Right." Elrond smiled. "How are your wife and the children?"

"They're all right – Elwing is just giving them some breakfast. Would you like to see them?"

"I'd love to. Lead on, sire."


	6. Tears and Discussions

**Chapter Five: Tears and Discussions**

The two elves talked as they strode down the corridor. Eärendil was eager to know about Elrond's past, but Elrond often found it difficult to speak honestly to his father.

"I don't really remember much about my early childhood," he said nonchalantly. "I know I grew up west of the Blue Mountains, and later traveled to the northeast…" He was recalling only the basest memories of his life. "I've lived near there for most of my life, until I journeyed here."

Eärendil nodded. "What were your parents like?"

That phrase set Elrond's heartbeat in check for an infinitely long moment. How could he ever answer that? He couldn't possibly make it sound like something out of the past. He was standing right beside his father, going to meet his mother!

In the instant that his pulse was frozen, the elf felt tears fill his eyes. He blinked them back, chanting mutely, _I will **not **cry. I will **not **cry._

"Is something wrong?" asked Eärendil in concern.

Elrond drew a breath that held a sob as his heart started again, now thumping at twice its normal tempo.

"P- please excuse me," he gasped, then turned and fled.

His father called after him, but Elrond was deaf to it. All he wanted now was to get away.

He reached his bedroom, shut and locked the door, then crumpled onto his bed. Burying his face in his pillow, he fought to quell his tears, the tears his father had unwittingly caused to flow.

When his silent sobs halted, the elf turned onto his back and whispered to the ceiling, "I can't do this."

"It was not your fault," said a soothing voice.

Elrond turned his head toward the voice, and saw Lórien and Mandos standing calmly at the side of his bed. The Dream-lord's face held compassion, and the Doomsman looked sympathetic.

This was most unusual; Mandos had only ever shown pity once. Yet here he was, his eyes glimmering a sad blue shade, his pale face tender. He placed a gentle hand on Elrond's shoulder as the elf sat up and bowed his head.

"Do not be ashamed to weep," the Doomsman told his comrade kindly. "Not all tears are an evil."

"I doubt I can take much more of this," said Elrond, starting to weep again. "They're my parents, and I can't even…" He mopped his face with his sleeve. "They don't know how much I love them."

Lórien moved softly to the elf's side, caressing his cheek with a hand.

"It will be all right, Elrond," he whispered. "I swear this to you."

Elrond nodded trustingly, gazing into the Dream-lord's blue eyes. "Thank you."

Lórien only smiled, gently pushing the elf back down onto his pillows. Moving his hand to Elrond's brow, he began murmuring in a familiarly strange tongue.

Elrond felt a comforting numbness steal over him. He imagined he was dangling by one hand on the pale ledge of consciousness, hanging over the darkly churning whirlpool of sleep. Lórien was kneeling above him, prising his fingers away one by one as he chanted part of a children's game in a sing-song voice.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…"

One by one his fingers lost their grip.

Elrond smiled.

He plunged silently, willingly, into oblivion.

----

Mandos sighed as he saw the elf's eyes glaze over, and his body go limp. He looked up at Lórien and spoke softly.

"You know he was right to be distressed, brother. To be with his parents after more than six thousand years, and unable to show his love for them… it could ultimately shatter his heart."

"What of the child?" inquired the Dream-lord. "Surely Elrond the Second, as he is called, could show the needed affection?"

"He is only half of Elrond's true essence," said Mandos. "They are as the two sides of a coin; you cannot purchase anything with just one side. Both must be together to be of any value."

Lórien sighed. "What do you suggest we do?"

"We can discuss this in a moment," said Mandos, stepping toward the door. "I will return shortly; there is someone I must first speak to."

----

Eärendil hurried through his house, glancing left and right as he rushed along. Where was Elrond? The elf had run off so suddenly, and Eärendil couldn't help but think it was his fault.

"Master Elrond!" he called. "Master Elrond?"

"Lord Eärendil," said a deep voice.

Eärendil skidded to a halt and bowed low as a dark figure appeared before him. "Lord Mandos, what can I do for you?"

"I am in no need of assistance," said the Doomsman. "I am here to inform you that Master Elrond does not wish to see anyone at present."

"Is he all right?" asked Eärendil anxiously.

"He is resting in his bedchamber at the moment," Mandos explained calmly. "An excess of stress, I believe, was the cause of his sudden departure."

Eärendil sighed, relieved. "I'm glad he's all right."

Mandos nodded. "I have an important matter to discuss with my brother, so I will take my leave."

"Very well, sire," said Eärendil with a bow.

The Doomsman turned and swept away in silence.

----

"What is to be done?" wondered Lórien. "Eärendil and Elwing are entirely unaware that their elder son is the one they named their children's godfather."

"And to inform them of this at this time would only further complicate matters," sighed Mandos. "We must wait until both Eärendil and Elwing know Elrond – both sides of him – enough to accept this. The present is far too early."

Lórien nodded. "What of the prophecy?"

Mandos paused. "Yes… that will indeed hinder matters. We shall see."

Both glanced down at Elrond, who was still lying immobile. Mandos noticed his brother had pulled the bedspread up over the elf's body. He sighed as he gazed down at Elrond's still face.

"You know nothing of what awaits you," he murmured softly. "I wish I could tell you all. This life will never be the same as the last."

Lórien stood in a calm silence, closing his eyes and laying a gentle hand on the half-elf's brow. Mandos glanced at him.

"What dreams are you sending him?"

"Happier times," the Vala murmured. "Much happier times."

----

Elrond woke slowly, feeling quite well-rested. The first thing he noticed when he sat up was that Mandos and Lórien were nowhere to be seen. By the sunlight streaming through his window, he saw it was nearing noon.

"Master Elrond?" said a voice from the doorway.

Elrond looked, and spotted his father standing on the threshold, carrying a platter of food with two goblets of wine.

Eärendil smiled when he saw Elrond was awake. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Elrond replied, rising from the bed and straightening the blanket a little. He glanced oddly down at the tray laden with enough food for two people. "I don't think I'm quite that hungry, my lord…"

"I thought you might like to join me for dinner," said Eärendil, setting the food down on Elrond's bedside table. "I also wished to speak with you in private."

"I've been wanting to speak with you as well," Elrond told him, selecting a glass of wine and sipping from it. "I wish to apologize for running away from you earlier today. It was extremely rude of me."

"It was my fault for upsetting you," Eärendil replied.

Elrond paused before he spoke, trying to choose words that would accurately describe his pain without revealing his identity.

"You wanted to know about my parents," he said warily. "But the truth is I never really knew them well myself. My mother died when I was a child, and I hardly even knew my father."

"I'm sorry," said Eärendil softly. "That must have been hard for you."

Elrond nodded, glancing discreetly down so that his father wouldn't see his unshed tears again. Eärendil quickly changed the subject as he picked up a roll and buttered it.

"I thought it best that you know this now, or else I might get caught up and let it slip my mind. I am leaving soon for Valinor."

"Valinor?" repeated Elrond, his eyebrows arching. "Why?"

"To seek help from the Valar," Eärendil replied. "Surely you know about the seven sons of Fëanor?"

"I've only heard a little of them," Elrond lied. "What about them?"

"I fear they may invade Sirion," said his father, lowering his voice. "We have something in this haven that they feel is rightfully theirs, and they will do absolutely anything to get it back."

_The Silmaril, _Elrond thought. He knew his mother held one of the three Jewels of Fëanor, whose crystalline depths held the light of the long-lost Two Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurëlin.

"Do you think they'll come soon?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I want to be prepared. If the worst happens…" Eärendil shuddered and faltered.

Elrond shivered as well, as a voice floated into his mind like a breath of wind: _The thing you fear will happen four years hence._

"I pray the worst won't happen," he murmured.

"So do I," his father nodded. "But there is always an _if_…"

Oh, yes… _If._ That little word, thin as a dagger's edge, upon which hung the two definite sides of every question, yes and no. Everyone's greatest fear was _what if… _It was a nasty, uncertain word.

"Yes," Elrond muttered disdainfully. "I despise that word."

There was a rather awkward silence, and Elrond broke it with a hesitant question: "When will you be leaving?"

"When my ship is ready," Eärendil replied. "It will take a few weeks yet, and then I'll need to load her with supplies and such… so, at the earliest, about a month."

Elrond nodded mutely. A month… he had a month to get to know his father. But could he manage, knowing he could never say "I love you"? And _if_ he fouled it up… what would Eärendil think? How would he bluff his way out?

"Are you all right?" his father asked, breaking into his morbid thoughts.

"I'm fine," he said a little too quickly, sipping from his glass of wine so he wouldn't have to speak.

Eärendil frowned a little, but shrugged a shoulder. He knew better than to intrude upon others' private thoughts. But he couldn't help wondering…


	7. Mixed Emotions

**Chapter Six: Mixed Emotions**

They continued their meal in silence, as both elves wrestled with their own thoughts. At last Eärendil broke the thickening quiet; something had been irking him.

"I've been overhearing what some of my kin have been saying about you," he said hesitantly.

"And?" Elrond paused with an unsteadily-positioned forkful of potato halfway to his mouth.

"Well…" Eärendil shifted uncomfortably. "A lot of the elves here think that you are some kind of curse the Valar placed upon this haven, simply because of your close friendship with the Lords Mandos and Lórien. But you know this already, I'm sure."

Elrond nodded, setting down his fork before he could get potato all over his lap. "Something tells me that you have a different opinion."

Eärendil beamed, his eyes sparkling. "As a matter of fact, I do. Far from thinking you are a curse, I completely agree with Caranel, as you mentioned earlier: you are a great blessing to this haven.

"I know that I was much mistaken in believing that the others would accept you so readily. I thought they would regard you with some sort of reverence, rather than scorning you behind your back. I was very wrong indeed."

"I appreciate your kind thoughts," Elrond smiled.

They finished their meal, and Eärendil rose to leave, taking the empty plate and goblets with him. As he backed out of the door, Elrond said abruptly, "Lord Eärendil?"

"Yes?" Eärendil smiled.

Elrond paused for only a split-second before finishing, "I wish you the best of fortune on your journey, sire." He liked that last word; it showed that he knew his father was a lordly figure, but it was also a synonym for "father."

Eärendil nodded, bowing his head. "_Hannon-le_, Lord Elrond." (Thank you)

"_Le-maetul,_ Lord Eärendil," (You're welcome) Elrond replied politely.

Eärendil closed the door softly behind him, and Elrond sighed, smiling slightly. His heart felt much lighter than it had just before.

"You handled that well," said a deep voice behind him.

Elrond turned, bowing to the Valar standing behind him. Mandos looked pleased in a calm, subdued way, and Lórien was smiling brightly.

"Well done," he said. "You've found a way to show both respect and love for your father, and still he knows nothing of your true nature. It was masterfully executed."

"Many thanks, my lords," Elrond replied, feeling his heart inflating with joy and pride. Hearing those words from anyone would be a thing to grin about. But from the Valar! There was no higher praise.

"You are most welcome," said Lórien. "But there is another matter to consider… that of your mother."

Elrond nodded, deflating slightly. He hadn't given a thought to Elwing.

"Yes," he murmured. "I hadn't considered…"

He lapsed into a pensive silence. After a few moments of deep thought he spoke again, quietly.

"I only have a week until Father leaves," he said, half to himself, "but if nothing goes wrong, I'll have four years with Mother. Would it be fair to concentrate only on Ada for this week?"

"You could concentrate mostly on your father," Mandos told him, "but I believe it would be better if you did spend some time with your mother, beginning now."

Elrond nodded. "I never did get to see her at breakfast…"

Mandos smiled. "You are dismissed."

The half-elf beamed, bowed and hurried away.

----

Elrond strode briskly down the long corridor toward the dining hall, following the sound of his parents' voices engaging in conversation. The smile faded from his lips as he heard what they were saying.

"Will you be visiting Cirdan today?" Elwing asked.

"Not today," Eärendil answered. "I'll wait until tomorrow. You'll be all right by yourself, won't you?"

Elwing's voice held an audible note of sadness as she replied, "The children need to get to know their father better."

"I know," Eärendil sighed. "I'm sorry, meleth. But you know why it is I have to go."

"To ask the Valar for help," said Elwing understandingly. "I know. But why so soon? Who knows how long you'll be gone?"

"I don't want to leave either," Eärendil told his wife gently. "But I must. We don't know when the Fëanorians will decide to attack; we have to be ready as soon as possible."

_I know when they'll come,_ Elrond thought, slowing down as he approached the dining room door. _You don't **have** to leave, Ada. One week is far too soon… can't you stay a little longer? I barely knew you in my past life. I want this to make up for it…_

He was starting to cry again, he realized. He hastily wiped his moist eyes with his sleeve as he entered the spacious chamber, clearing his throat to announce his presence.

Eärendil and Elwing were seated side-by-side at a table that was otherwise vacant. Both had their heads inclined toward the other, leaning in to share a tender kiss. Young Elrond and Elros were gently cradled in their mother's arms.

Elwing's face lit up with a smile when she looked up and saw Elrond standing on the threshold. She nodded for him to come in, and he bowed his head in respect to both his parents as he did.

"We meet again," Eärendil smiled, rising to greet him. "How are you, Lord Elrond?"

"I'm just fine, sire," Elrond replied. "It's good to see you again, Lady Elwing," he added, nodding to his mother.

Elwing smiled. "And you, Lord Elrond. Won't you sit down?"

Elrond took a seat next to his mother, smiling down at his small self and receiving a happy gurgle in reply.

Elwing laughed. "He seems to really like you."

Elrond smiled, but inside his heart was twisting painfully. He averted his gaze from his mother's face, pretending to be focused on a small knothole in the tabletop. _Don't you dare start again,_ he ordered himself as his eyes began to prickle.

"Has Eärendil told you of his plan to leave for Valinor?" Elwing asked him, breaking the silence.

Elrond nodded. "Just a few minutes ago, actually."

She nodded, falling silent again. Elrond stared at her, trying to figure out what was going on behind her silvery eyes. She looked sad, and a little worried. What was going through her head?

_I know you're scared for your husband, _he thought, not really believing Elwing could hear him. _He'll be all right. But I can't help but wonder… are you more concerned about your children or yourself? Do you wonder what it will be like, trying to raise two infants on your own for who knows how long?_

"What?" said Elwing abruptly.

"What?" Elrond frowned.

"Did you just say something?" she asked him.

Elrond shook his head. "Not a word. Why?"

"Nothing." Elwing shrugged casually. "I must have been hearing things."

_I'll bet you were, _Elrond thought. _My thoughts._

"There it is again," his mother muttered. "Strange."

Eärendil glanced over at Elrond, and the elf felt transfixed by his father's keen gaze. His grey eyes blended authority, wisdom, strength and kindness. There was the unquestioned power of a lord, the undying love of a father for his children, and the warrior-like determination that stated clearly, "Hurt my family and you will pay dearly."

Eärendil's eyes were locked firmly onto those of the other elf. There was something about the sharp blue eyes that spoke of great knowledge, and understanding of many things through countless years of experience. He saw there grief, passion, fear, pity… a churning rainbow of blended emotions.

Father and son sat still as stone, the stillness about them growing ever thicker. Elwing, sitting between the two, felt a sudden impulse to break the connection between the two any way she could. Carefully she raised her hand and swatted at an insect that was humming around her ear. That broke the spell.

Eärendil and Elrond both blinked, glancing away from each other. Eärendil looked somewhat ashamed, and Elrond was slightly worried. Had his father seen so much in his eyes to know who he really was? Or had Elwing broken the connection in time?

He glanced down at the two infants nestled in their mother's arms, and felt a sudden strong urge to yawn. At the same time he noticed his younger self doing just that. No wonder.

"Someone's getting tired," Eärendil noticed, smiling gently down at the drowsy babe. "You need a nap, don't you?"

"I'll take him to his room," said Elwing, standing up. "If you'll excuse me…" She turned to leave.

"You'd best leave Elros with him," Eärendil called after his wife. "You know he gets lonely when they're apart."

Elwing nodded over her shoulder, and Elrond sighed silently. He was alone with his father for a second time, the father he couldn't even call by his true title: Ada.

Eärendil seemed to notice the other elf's gloominess, and started a cheery conversation. "Do you have any experience in shipbuilding, Lord Elrond?"

Rather startled by the odd question, Elrond didn't answer for a moment. At length he replied, "Not really, but I'm a fast learner. Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come with me to the Isle of Balar tomorrow," his father said brightly. "Lord Cirdan and I are working on a ship for me to journey in to Valinor, and it's always good to have an extra pair of hands. Would you join us?"

Elrond was elated at the idea. Genuine father-son time, and a chance to learn something profitable. It was perfect!

"I'd be glad to," he grinned. "When do we leave?"


	8. Of Ships and Sea Shanties

**Chapter Seven: Of Ships and Sea Shanties**

It seemed to Elrond that he had just fallen asleep that night when he heard a soft tapping sound from outside his room. Someone was knocking on the door.

"C'min," the elf called out groggily, sitting up and yawning. Who in Arda could be knocking? He probed his mind, and remembered yesterday's conversation with Eärendil. Oh, yes… he was accompanying his father to the Isle of Balar today.

Staring around his dim bedchamber, Elrond saw that stars were still twinkling outside the window. It wasn't even dawn! Just how far was it to the island?

As Elrond rose, the door creaked slowly open, spilling a bright shaft of reddish-gold torchlight into the shadowy chamber. A figure stood silhouetted on the threshold, soon revealed to be Eärendil. The elf was fully dressed and wide awake.

Elrond moved over to where a shallow basin and a pitcher of water stood on a table by the window. Splashing a double handful of the icy liquid onto his face, he shivered as his senses were revived.

"There are horses waiting for us in the stables," said his father, as Elrond dried his face and turned toward the door. "Are you ready?"

"If you'll give me a moment to dress, I'll be with you shortly," Elrond replied.

Eärendil nodded, stepping away from the door as Elrond moved to his wardrobe and selected a beige tunic and breeches. He dressed as quickly as he could, grabbed a cloak and followed his father out to the stables.

Eärendil reached into a sack that was slung over his shoulder, pulling out a russet apple and handing it to Elrond before selecting one for himself. The elves breakfasted leisurely as they headed outside.

Elwing met them just outside the stable door, a smile on her face and her sons in her arms. She gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, as she could not embrace him, and nodded politely to Elrond.

"Good luck, both of you," she said warmly. "And please be careful."

Eärendil and Elrond both nodded, smiling reassuringly. Eärendil bent down a little and kissed his sons' foreheads gently.

"I'll see you in a few days," he told his wife, pressing his lips against hers. "Take care."

She nodded sadly, kissing him again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Eärendil replied.

_So do I, _Elrond thought miserably. _If only you knew._

Eärendil nodded to Elrond, and they both mounted the horses Eärendil had readied to bear them to the shores of Beleriand; from there they would take a ferry to the island. Elrond prayed fervently that it was less than five miles.

But what if it was? His heart suddenly clenched at the thought. What if he and his infant self grew too far apart? He shuddered as a vision of Mandos' torn handkerchief flitted unbidden to the front of his mind, praying that nothing would happen.

As dawn turned the sky to pale gold, Eärendil again struck up conversation with his comrade. He was glancing at Elrond's cloak, which was shimmering in the sunlight; it was the one he had received from Mandos.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"It was a gift," Elrond replied hesitantly, but honestly.

Eärendil nodded, seemingly noticing the half-elf's unease, and did not question him further. They rode on in silence, with Elrond growing steadily more uncomfortable. He was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe; his heart now felt as if it were caught between two pairs of tongs, both pulling in different directions. Was this what it felt like to have one's soul ripped in two?

"Are you all right?" his father asked him, frowning in concern.

Elrond nodded insincerely, not daring to speak; he felt as if he might be sick if he opened his mouth. Eärendil shrugged, but glanced back at his companion every once in a while.

Gradually the wrenching feeling in Elrond's heart seemed to recede, and he soon forgot about it. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the sun was warm and bright; the wind was light and breezy. It was a beautiful day.

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" said Eärendil brightly.

"Gorgeous," Elrond agreed. He gazed around at the scenery rushing past them; the pale hues of green budding trees blended with the pastel pink and purple of their blossoms and the bright, pure blue sky in a multicolored blur.

Something suddenly caught his eye, something not fitting with the bright colors around them – a brief flicker of smoky grey. Instinctively he slowed his horse for a better look, but whatever it was had gone as quickly as it had come.

Eärendil frowned at him, halting his own steed. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I saw something," Elrond replied, catching up to his father. "Never mind, it's long gone."

But was it? For the remainder of the journey – and it was a long one – Elrond continued to snatch glimpses of grey around him, like wisps of storm clouds hovering near the earth. But at last Cirdan's home rose up before them, its pale walls bright against the sky.

The keening cries of seagulls hailed the two travelers as they approached the haven; they wheeled high above a tall figure who was coming to greet them.

Eärendil smiled as he dismounted his horse. "Lord Cirdan, it's good to see you again."

Cirdan was a tall, silver-haired elf, clad in a cream-colored tunic and breeches, and a turquoise cloak that matched exactly the hue of his bright eyes. What set him apart from every other elf in Middle-earth was that Cirdan sported a neatly-trimmed beard, the same color as his hair.

"Lord Eärendil," he nodded, beaming. "You look well. I was thrilled when I heard the news about your wife… twin sons! Both healthy babies… and…" Here Cirdan lowered his voice dramatically.

"Are the rumors true? Did the_ Fëanturi_ actually attend the celebration feast, invited by the elf you chose to be your children's' godfather? That would have been a sight – I'm sorry I couldn't be there!"

"It was indeed an event to remember," said Eärendil, smiling over at Elrond. "And yes, the lords Lórien and Mandos did in fact come to the feast; they were invited by none other than my good friend Lord Elrond, whom you see here."

"_Maetul, a mae govannen!_" (Welcome, and well met!) cried Cirdan, shaking Elrond's hand heartily. "I am indeed honored by your presence."

"Thank you, my lord," Elrond smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Cirdan smiled warmly, and the two elves' eyes met and locked. A small, puzzled frown replaced the smile on the shipwright's lips, and Elrond shifted uneasily.

"Has anyone ever told you," Cirdan said quietly, "how much you two resemble each other? I could easily mistake you for close kindred, or even father and son. Though I know you can't be… Lord Tuor and Lady Idril have long since sailed to Valinor."

Eärendil nodded, a flicker of pain entering his grey eyes. Elrond felt a sharp twinge of sympathy for his father. Had he, too, lost his parents as a child?

But Cirdan's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Come in, sires. Lord Eärendil, your ship is waiting in the shipyard."

"Thank you," Eärendil smiled, striding forward and following Cirdan, who was rolling up his sleeves as he reentered his haven. Elrond hurried along in their wake.

The trio rounded a corner, and Elrond found himself staring at a half-assembled ship beside a pile of timber. The curve of its not-yet-finished hull was like a wall in the distance; it lay on its side, as if it were halfway through rolling over.

Cirdan smiled at his companions, his turquoise eyes sparkling. "Shall we get started?"

----

The air resounded with the thud of hammers striking nails as shipwright, mariner and apprentice toiled steadily. Eärendil and Cirdan cheerily sang sea shanties as they worked; Elrond kept his head down as he crouched over his workspace, knowing full well that every nail he knocked into place was hastening his father's departure.

He was frustrated with everything; with his father, for leaving so soon; with his mother, for not trying harder to get him to stay; and most of all with himself, for not being able to tell his father when the Fëanorians were really coming. Elrond vented all of his anger onto the nails, slamming them furiously into the wood. His fist was sore from holding his hammer too tightly, and his eyes stung with sawdust and tears of helplessness.

Eärendil was beginning another song, a slower one; Elrond paid close attention to the words this time, as they plucked at the strings of his heart:

"The wind's in the bay, and the high sky is blue  
And I'm setting sail, so far, far from you.  
Elwing my love, though I know you're forlorn  
'Tis West I must go, on this fine April morn.

_Oh dearie me love, I'm so sorry to leave.  
And though I must go, for you I shall grieve.  
The sea's in my blood, it's the mariner's curse  
And tarrying does naught but make it far worse._

The winds from the East are all filling my sails  
And my ears are ringing, as sadly they wail.  
I'll never forget you, our hearts are entwined  
And with miles between us, I'll still call you mine.

_Oh dearie me love, I'm so sorry to leave.  
And though I must go, for you I shall grieve.  
The sea's in my blood, it's the mariner's curse  
And tarrying does naught but make it far worse…_"

Elrond couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They slid softly down his dusty cheeks as he listened to his father's heartfelt song. The repeated refrain stung him most of all. Couldn't Eärendil tarry just a little longer? Long enough to get to know his children, at least, if not to see them grow up?

_No,_ whispered a familiar voice in his head. _I am sorry, but you must let him go._

Elrond gasped, quickly straightening up and whirling around. Halfway there, he bowed to the Lord of Dreams, who was standing just a few feet away.


	9. Bittersweet

**Chapter Eight: Bittersweet**

"Lord Lórien!" Elrond gasped.

At the sound of his voice, Eärendil and Cirdan both looked up.

"My lord, it is a great honor!" cried Cirdan, bowing respectfully. Eärendil followed suit, smiling calmly.

"Thank you," said the Dream-lord softly. His blue eyes were fixed on Elrond.

The shipwright looked utterly amazed at the Vala's appearance; the mariner was quietly reverent. Elrond was dejected and confused. What was Lórien doing here?

The Vala's voice echoed dismally in the elf's mind. _You cannot hold him back, Elrond. He must cross Belegaer and become the star he is meant to be._

Elrond knew all too well that Lórien wasn't just paying Eärendil a compliment by calling him a star. But why couldn't he stay longer? The Fëanorians wouldn't invade Sirion for four years…

Lórien shook his head once. _I am sorry._

_Are you? _Elrond wondered mutely. _Or are you just saying that because you know this hurts me more than it does you?_

But the elf mentally kicked himself for thinking it. Lórien _was _sorry; his eyes betrayed it. If the saying was true, that eyes were the windows of the soul, then Lórien's were flung wide open.

Elrond nodded silently. _I understand. _

He turned back to his father and Cirdan, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of a bell.

"That would be the call for dinner," said Cirdan, breaking the silence. "Would you care to join us, my lord?" he inquired to Lórien.

"It would be a pleasure," the Vala smiled.

----

They had their meal outside, as the weather was so pleasant. A variety of meats, breads with some different spreads, salads and cheeses were available, with goblets of wine or water. The four companions conversed brightly as they ate.

Cirdan was as interested in Elrond's past as Eärendil had been; Elrond somehow found it easier to talk to the shipwright than it had been to speak to his father.

"…I've lived near Eregion for many years now," the half-elf was saying, as he reached for a handkerchief to wipe honey from his lips. "Until I journeyed here, that i… _mmft?_"

Elrond was startled to find that his lips were suddenly glued together; the honey on them had brushed off onto the cloth, attaching it to his lips and creating a sticky predicament. He tried to tug the handkerchief away from his mouth, but to no avail; it was as though it had been covered with mortar.

Eärendil was the first to notice. "Do you need help, Master Elrond?"

Elrond made a strange muffled noise, nodding to his father. Eärendil reached over to help him, while Elrond tried to remain as still as he could. As Eärendil pulled as gently as possible on the handkerchief, Lórien gently held Elrond's head still; the elf whimpered as the skin was peeled from his lips.

"This isn't working," the mariner sighed after a short while. "We'll either have to cut it off, or moisten the handkerchief enough to get it off with as little pain as possible. What do you think, Master Elrond?" he asked.

Elrond, feeling severely humiliated, held up two fingers in favor of the second option. Eärendil nodded, and Cirdan picked up a nearby glass of water.

"Hold still," he said, carefully pouring the liquid over the handkerchief. The cloth and Elrond's lips were soon mercifully separate, although the elf was bleeding a little. Lórien handed him a clean handkerchief, which he gratefully pressed to his lips.

After dinner, the shipwright and the mariner continued work on the ship. Elrond sat aside from them, as he had only one hand available; the other was occupied with his lips. He sent out a disgruntled thought to Lórien, who was seated beside him.

_So much for father-son time. I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed._

_That was purely accidental, _said the Vala calmly. _It could have happened to anyone._

Elrond nodded, not entirely reassured. He fell silent, and soon became lost in thought. The awful pains in his heart came back to mind, as did the strange grey flickers he had seen on the way to Mithlond. He frowned to himself, puzzling through his memory…

The pieces slowly came together. The flashes of grey he had seen on his way to Mithlond could have been Lórien's robe. And the terrible pains in his heart… no, he had already contemplated that enough. But why had they stopped? Wasn't his other half still in Sirion with Elwing? They were much further than five miles apart, surely…

Unless… could it be?

_I think there's something you're not telling me, sire, _Elrond said silently, gazing calmly up into the Dream-lord's eyes.

_Oh? What might that be? _Lórien's tone now held a sly note, and the suggestion of a smile hid at the corner of his mouth.

_A while ago I felt that I wasn't "all here", so to speak, _the elf replied smoothly. _But now I think I am… literally. Where is my other half?_

The Vala's expression did not change. _What makes you say you are fully here?_

_Because, _Elrond smirked, _if I weren't, I think I'd be dead. Lord Mandos told me that something disastrous would happen if I went outside of the five-mile limit between my two halves. And, as is plainly obvious, I'm still here… or, half of me is. That means my infant half must be here somewhere, or at least within five miles of here._

Lórien smiled. _Well done. Your mother is with the children; they are outside the haven._

_'The children'? _cried Elrond. _She brought both of us – my brother and I?_

_Yes, _nodded the Dream-lord. _Your brother would be lonely without you._

Elrond remembered his father's words from yesterday. _All right… but does Mother know why you've brought them here?_

_No. I thought it unwise to reveal your secret to her at present._

_What did you tell her, then? _Elrond wanted to know.

_I told her that it was vitally important, _Lórien told him. _I said nothing of you, for the sake of safety._

Elrond nodded. _Would it be possible for us to meet on the way back to Sirion?_

_I am afraid not_, the Dream-lord dissented._ Eärendil must not know of this either. It would be far too risky._

_Very well, _said the elf quietly, adjusting his handkerchief.

----

All too soon, it was time to leave. The sun had not yet set, but Eärendil reasoned that it would be good to get back to Sirion as soon as possible. He and Elrond mounted their horses and rode off; Lórien swirled away as they departed.

"Well, we made good progress," said the mariner brightly, as they journeyed home. "A pity about your lips."

Elrond nodded; now that the embarrassment had started to wear off, the incident was becoming rather funny. "I don't think I'll ever be able to eat honey confidently again."

Both elves laughed; Elrond smiled quietly, then frowned as Lórien's words echoed in his memory. He wished he could tell his father about the Fëanorians; then perhaps Eärendil could stay a little longer.

But it probably wasn't to be. Elrond trusted Lórien, and kept his tongue in check.


	10. The Doomsman's Decision

**Chapter Nine: The Doomsman's Decision**

The next two weeks passed in a similar manner; Elrond accompanied his father dutifully to the Isle of Balar, followed surreptitiously by Lórien, Elwing, and her young sons. The Vala showed himself every so often, primarily to remind Elrond not to reveal anything about the Fëanorians until further notice.

The elf was true to his word, and said nothing. But all the while a thought harried at him. His father was sailing to Valinor to ask help from the Valar; yet two of them were here in Sirion. Why not ask them, and spare himself the grief of leaving his wife and children behind?

There was nothing else for it, Elrond decided. He would have to confront either Mandos or Lórien, and get some answers. And he would do it tonight.

----

Eärendil was lost in thought as he aimlessly roamed his house. Lord Elrond was indeed a strange character. Just how had he managed to win the Valar's favor? What had occurred between them the first day Lord Lórien had appeared on the Isle of Balar?

And why did he have such nagging doubts about the whole thing?

Eärendil pondered his mission. Why was he sailing to Valinor in the first place? To bring a message to the Valar, and to seek their aid. But… were not two of the ones he sought right here, under his very nose?

Of course – it all became clear. Why cross the sea and leave his wife and children behind, when he could simply approach either Lord Lórien or Lord Mandos here, and ask counsel from them?

That was what he would do, Eärendil resolved. Now, he would only have to find them…

----

That evening two elves, father and son, both of them unaware of the other, crept through the house of Eärendil with a common goal. Both had seen Lord Mandos pass; neither saw the other.

Mandos saw them both.

He waited. The elves came nearer still, hastening toward him and each other… they both drew breath, preparing to shout…

"Lord Mandos!"

The cry was of two voices; each was shocked to hear the other, even as they came face-to-face, a few feet away from the patient Doomsman. A strange, concurrent conversation occurred as they both began speaking together.

"What are you doing here? Looking for Lord Mandos – I wanted to ask him about you!"

"Ask away," said Mandos calmly. There was a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

Both elves turned, bowing respectfully. Elrond was the first to address their companion.

"Lord Mandos," he began hesitantly, "I wonder whether I might have a word with you, in private…"

"Yet considering what I have just heard, you both seem to require knowledge about each other," he replied. "Come with me, both of you."

Eärendil and Elrond shared a quick glance, then shrugged and followed him back down the hall. Why bar the door when opportunity was knocking?

----

Mandos closed the door softly behind Elrond as he came into the room behind his father and the Doomsman. Both elves seated themselves at a desk, patiently waiting for the Vala to speak.

Mandos did not address them at once; he instead sent out a thought to Lórien, whom he sensed was nearby. _I require your assistance, brother._

_Yes?_ Lórien replied calmly, appearing in the room in a swirl of grey.

Mandos smiled and spoke aloud to his brother. "I wonder whether you might assist me."

"Of course," the Dream-lord said pleasantly. "How may I help?"

"It would be of great help to me," the Doomsman told him, "if you would give counsel to Eärendil regarding his inquiries about Elrond, while I do the same with Elrond."

Lórien nodded, smiling. "I would be glad to."

"Very well."

Mandos beckoned for Elrond to rise, starting toward the door. The elf silently followed him out, casting a glance back at his father as he did.

The Vala led Elrond to a vacant chamber, where the elf sat at a desk and tried to organize his thoughts while Mandos waited. He didn't want to say the wrong thing.

"My lord," he said at length, "I have been wondering lately about… about my father."

"And?" Mandos urged him to continue.

Elrond drew a deep breath. This was it… the moment of truth.

"I was thinking… Father is sailing to Valinor not only because he hears the call of the sea day and night, but also because he wishes to ask you for help concerning the Fëanorians. He doesn't know that they won't attack for four years.

"But he still needs to deliver the message, and since you're here, I was thinking that perhaps he could just give you the message, and you could pass it on to the other Valar, instead of having Father cross Belegaer and leave Mother, and my – my brother and I, behind…"

Elrond faltered. Mandos' expression hadn't changed in the least. Those dark eyes seemed to be boring into him, seeing what was in his mind and heart as well as on his tongue. He squirmed inwardly, waiting for the Doomsman to say something, anything.

"And what would you suggest?" Mandos asked him.

Elrond swallowed the lump in his throat. He had had this all figured out, but where were the words to say?

"Well," he began hesitantly, feeling extremely ill at ease, "my point is…"

"Yes?"

Elrond forced himself to meet the Vala's calm eyes. "If… if my father _must_ cross the sea and become a star, then couldn't he spend a little more time here in Sirion? Not with me specifically," he added quickly. "This is as much for my mother and brother as it is for me. Couldn't he stay for, maybe… two years?"

There. He'd said it. Now for judgment.

Mandos' face remained impassive for a moment, and then he spoke.

"Two years," he repeated. "With four years until the Fëanorians will attack."

"Yes," Elrond affirmed. His voice came out in nearly a whisper, completely lacking any semblance of conviction.

"And would you be willing to part with him after that time? You know full well that there will be no change of mind."

"I have counted the cost," Elrond replied. "I am willing."

Mandos nodded. "I must first discuss this with my brother. There are other queries to be answered."

"I can wait," Elrond replied.

----

"What is it you wish to know?" Lórien inquired.

Eärendil sighed. "There is a fair amount."

"Go on."

Eärendil nodded. "First things first… I wish to know about Valinor. I know that I must deliver a message to your kin, the Valar, but must I leave my wife and sons to do it? I came looking for you tonight because I thought I might be able to pass on my message to you, and then have you relay it to your kindred. With that I would be able to stay with my family, and have my duty done. Would that be possible?"

"I know of your plight," Lórien said calmly. "I will relay the message."

"Thank you, sire," Eärendil replied gratefully. "And now for my other question… what is it about Lord Elrond that causes you to hold him in such high esteem? That you would follow his simplest whims and requests? Who _is_ he?"

Lórien was silent. Dare he reveal this now? Mandos would not be pleased. There was still so much hindering them…

No. He didn't dare risk it. It was too soon, far too soon.

"I am afraid," he replied softly, "that some questions cannot be answered as soon as they are asked. In time you may discover the truth. That is all I can tell you at this time."

Eärendil nodded. It was a minor setback. "I understand."

Lórien smiled, just as his brother's voice entered his head. _Are you finished?_

_Yes,_ he replied.

_Good. What have you learned?_

_Eärendil has told me of his reluctance to leave his family and cross the Sea,_ reported Lórien. _He is also beginning to wonder about Elrond._

_Did you reveal him?_ asked the Doomsman.

_No. I thought it too perilous._

_Very well. Elrond has asked me whether his father might be able to remain in Arda for longer than he had intended, after delivering his message to us._

_Eärendil told me something of the like,_ said Lórien. _How long did Elrond desire?_

_Two years._

Lórien nodded slowly. _Two years out of four seems a just amount. What do you think?_

_The same. I shall let Elrond know of this immediately._

----

Elrond gazed curiously at Mandos as the Vala stood in silence before him, a calm look on his pale face. What were those dark eyes hiding?

Mandos gave a nod, seemingly to no-one, and smiled slightly. Eyes glimmering, he spoke pleasantly to the elf.

"It has been decided," he said. "Eärendil may stay here for two years. And may that time be blessed."

Elrond stared at Mandos in silent elation, fighting all of his instincts to keep from flinging his arms about the Doomsman and embracing him. He dared not, for the sake of respect.

"Thank you," he finally managed. "Thank you so much!"

Mandos smiled. "Go in peace."

Elrond bowed, his heart bouncing joyfully around in his ribcage, and practically floated out the door and down the hall. He bade goodnight to his father and Lórien, and returned to his bedroom as if on wings.

Mandos watched him go, a silent smile on his face. Lórien murmured in his brother's ear, "Whatever you told him must have lifted his spirits. For a moment it seemed that his feet were not touching the floor."


	11. Connections

**Chapter Ten: Connections**

Elrond awoke the next morning with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. With the sun beaming down on him, he whistled cheerfully as he got dressed, and greeted a baffled Caranel with a tight hug.

"Good morning to you, too!" the elleth gasped as she was released. "Might I inquire as to your sudden high spirits, sir?"

Elrond merely smiled and patted her shoulder, saying jovially, "Oh, I don't know! Today just feels like a beautiful day to be alive on, don't you agree?"

Caranel did agree. The weather was warm, the sun was bright; flowers were budding, and birds were rejoicing in the air. It was a lovely morning, and Elrond's joy was positively contagious. The elleth often found herself humming along with him as she made his bed; the elf-lord practically danced down the hallway toward the dining room, greeting perfect strangers with bright smiles and handshakes.

Elrond entered the dining hall as though walking on clouds. Descending into a chair next to his mother, he nodded his head in respect. She smiled at him as she shifted the infants in her arms.

"Have you seen Eärendil?" she asked.

"Not since last night," Elrond replied. "I assumed he'd be with you."

"He was, until this morning," Elwing told him. "We went to bed together, but I woke up and he had left."

"Oh." Elrond frowned, his good mood wavering. Where could his father be?

"Elwing?" a voice called.

Elwing glanced up, smiling as she rose to her feet. "Good morning, meleth."

Eärendil smiled, leaning across the table and kissing her on the lips. "Good morning. And the same to you, Lord Elrond," he added, glancing at his son.

Elrond smiled, nodding respectfully to his father. "Did you sleep well, sire?"

"As well as any other night," Eärendil replied, taking a seat next to his wife. "You look as though you slept very well."

"I did," Elrond nodded. His sleep had been riddled with sweet dreams of anticipation of the two years to come – two years of blessed bliss.

"Where were you this morning?" Elwing asked her husband. "I woke up and you were gone."

Eärendil shrugged nonchalantly, replying, "I just felt like an early walk."

Elwing nodded, smiling. "Wasn't the sunrise beautiful?"

"Not nearly as beautiful as you," Eärendil said fondly, leaning close and kissing her lips again. Elrond glanced down as a whimper sounded from one of the infants in Elwing's arms.

Elwing reached up carefully to the neckline of her dress. "Excuse me, but little Elrond is thirsty…"

Elrond I smiled fondly as Elrond II drank eagerly from his mother's breast. "How sweet," he murmured.

"What is?" Elwing inquired.

"How mothers feed babies like that," Elrond replied. "Giving a part of themselves to their children, to help them grow. It's one of the most beautiful things a woman can do for her child, in my opinion."

Elwing smiled. "I've never heard of it that way before. What an interesting insight."

Gradually their conversation turned to other things: the beautiful weather, reminiscences of the day Elrond I had arrived in Sirion with Lórien and Mandos, and the progress of Eärendil and Cirdan's shipbuilding project (a touchy subject for Elwing).

For his mother's sake, Elrond decided to switch topics slightly; he turned casually to his father, asking, "How did things go last night?"

Eärendil frowned for a moment, in thought, then smiled. "Things went very well. I meant to tell you last night," he told his wife. "But you were already asleep."

"Tell me what?"

Eärendil's voice brimmed with elation. "I don't have to leave!"

"You don't?" cried Elwing delightedly. "That's wonderful! Who told you that?"

"Lord Lórien," Eärendil replied. "I passed my message on to him, and he said he would relay it to the other Valar. So my duty is done, and I can stay."

"That is good news," said Elrond, trying to sound as if it were new to him. "Lord Mandos didn't tell me that."

Eärendil glanced sideways at him as Elrond II turned away from his mother, satisfied and happy.

At that moment a servant approached, saying politely, "Might I get you some breakfast, my lords… my lady?"

Eärendil and Elwing both voiced their requests, and the servant turned questioningly to Elrond. "And you, sire?"

But the elf shook his head politely, replying, "Nothing for me, thank you… I've just had breakfast."

----

All through the day Elrond couldn't help but think back on how casually the servant had approached him at breakfast. Perhaps the superstitions about him were beginning to die down. Was it part of Mandos' blessing, or sheer coincidence?

The elf laughed to himself. Blessings from the Doomsman of the Valar. Who would have thought it possible?

Soon, however, that option seemed predominant. Less and less dubious whispers of him seemed to be heard as the days rolled into weeks. Spring blossomed into summer, and still Elrond's life was blessed. Eärendil still traveled to the Isle of Balar; his ship was completed and christened _Vingilot_, but she rested calmly in Cirdan's shipyard.

"It's a pity she isn't being used," the shipwright commented. "But I understand that you want her to stay here if you should ever need her, is that correct?"

Eärendil agreed. "Though I doubt it will be soon. I've been given permission by the Valar to stay in Sirion with my wife and children."

"Oh?" Cirdan's eyebrow lifted, and he smiled. "Elwing is pleased, no doubt."

Eärendil nodded. "She was thrilled when I gave her the news."

The shipwright smiled, then frowned. "But what about your mission?"

"That was incredibly simple," the mariner replied. "I told Lord Lórien of my plight, and he promised to pass on the message and said that I could remain in Arda."

"Good for you," Cirdan beamed. "I wish you well."

"Thank you very much," Eärendil smiled.

----

Elrond sighed contentedly as the balmy July breeze caressed his face, pushing his dark locks away from his face as it whispered through the warm garden outside of Eärendil's house. A faint, salty aroma lingered in his nostrils; he smiled briefly, inhaling the scent of the sea, mingled with a sweet flowery fragrance.

"Elrond?" said a low voice.

The elf turned, bowing to the Vala standing behind him. Mandos' dark hair glimmered in the sunlight, turning an iridescent green. He smiled as he moved to stand next to his comrade. "I hope I find you well?"

"I'm feeling wonderful, thank you, sire," Elrond replied. "Your blessing is still working efficiently."

"That is good," Mandos smiled. "And how are your parents?"

"They're happy to be together," the elf sighed. "Neither of them have any worry of time, now that they have each other here. Even though…"

He trailed off; Mandos calmly finished the sentence. "Even though they will be parted in less than two years."

Elrond nodded. "But what if Father finds that he loves Mother too much to leave? How will he fulfill his destiny then?"

The Doomsman frowned ever-so-slightly. "Are you trying to tell me something, Elrond?"

"Not at all, sire," said the elf quickly, sensing at once what the Vala meant. "I was merely stating a possibility; I would never dream of going back on my word."

Mandos nodded calmly. "I know you would not. But Eärendil does not know of his destiny, and it would be unwise to tell him. We shall see."

Elrond nodded, and casually changed the subject. "How am I connected to my other half? It seems more complicated than I thought. The things I do with this half of me seem to have little or no effect on my other half, but my other half's actions affect this half of me directly. Why is that?"

"It is a simple matter of looking at the past/future correlation," the Vala told him. "A man's actions on a given day will not matter on a previous day. So it is with your two halves: the past half affects the future half, but not the reverse.

"Although," he added to himself, "exceptions can be made in this case."

Elrond frowned slightly, choosing not to ponder over his friend's words immediately. But they remained hidden in some dusty back corner of his mind. Biding their time.


	12. Legacy of Love

**Chapter Eleven: Legacy of Love**

Time flew past, the seasons shifting softly from summer to autumn, to winter and spring and over again. Mandos' blessing never once wavered; Elrond's life was brimful of utter ecstasy.

Both Elrond I and II thrived in that period. The child grew to be a healthy one-year-old while the elf-lord grew closer to Eärendil than he could have imagined. Elrond's love for his father was matched only by Eärendil's brotherly affections for him. Elrond always prayed that someday his love would be returned in its purest form.

Eärendil himself also grew in love. His sons and his wife were the very dearest things in the world to him, more precious than any Silmaril. Nothing would ever change that.

But the Sea still sang in his heart, and he was ever more waryof it; yet he swayed to its voice like a sunflower to daylight. The two powers strove within him, each grappling for dominion. He could not grant it to either, for his own sake. So they battled on.

----

As the two years drew near their end, Elrond began to worry about his conversation with Mandos, a few short months after the blessing was given. What if Eärendil was reluctant to leave? What would become of his destiny?

"I do not know how to tell you this," sighed Mandos, when Elrond voiced his concern again. "It is of both fair and ill fortune for either to come to pass. But he cannot live peacefully with one foot on land, and the other in the sea. It will haunt him forever, until at last he accepts his fate. So must you."

"I do accept it," Elrond replied. "My concern is not for myself."

Mandos sighed yet again. "Reality is like a coin; there are two sides to every choice. And when the coin is spun, anything may result."

"But you know what will, don't you?" said Elrond quietly.

The Doomsman only nodded. It was all he could do.

----

The next few weeks seemed to crawl by incredibly slowly. A bitter sorrow was starting to replace the joy in Elrond's heart. And finally the fateful evening arrived, just two weeks after Elrond II and Elros' second birthday.

Elrond I was trudging dismally down the corridor toward the Great Hall when he heard his parents' voices up ahead. They had no idea their son was behind them, as they were absorbed in a touchy conversation.

"I can't stand it," Eärendil was saying. His voice was thick with pent-up emotion. "The Sea is calling me, but I don't think I'm ready to answer… I don't want to leave just yet. But if I stay, it will haunt me for eternity."

"Follow your heart," Elwing told him.

Eärendil sighed forlornly. "My heart is torn in two. Which half should I trust?"

Elwing fell silent; it was a stillness that was filled with sorrow. Elrond felt a huge pang of sympathy for his mother as he walked slowly closer. He suddenly felt an all-too-familiar prickling in his eyes, and fought back the impending tears.

"My lord?" he said warily. "My lady?"

Both of them turned; Elrond saw now that Elwing's face was wet with tears. Eärendil was sombre, his dark eyes downcast. Elrond's heart quivered in his chest.

"Was there something you needed?" his mother asked, her voice rather strained.

"Not at present," Elrond replied. "I just heard you talking, and…" He left the end of the sentence hanging.

Elwing nodded. "Yes. I understand. We'll go…" She started to leave; Eärendil moved to follow her.

"Please, wait," Elrond called out. "Don't go."

They turned back; Elrond took a step after them.

"You don't have to leave," he told them gently. "I understand what you're going through. I myself have been in a very similar situation with my own wife."

"What happened?" Eärendil frowned.

Elrond drew a breath. "She sailed to Valinor many years ago. Her heart was troubled, and she felt that she would find solace in the Blessed Realm. But we both still loved each other. In the end, she and I both decided that it was for the best, and she promised never to forget what we had. And I haven't forgotten."

His parents were silent; Elrond wondered whether that had been a wise thing to say. He shifted uneasily, and at length Eärendil spoke.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked.

"It was long enough ago that I have felt time passing," Elrond replied, "but not so long past that the memory is not fresh in my mind. It still pains me today as it did that night."

His father nodded mutely; Elwing placed a hand calmly in his. He turned to her, and they shared a long, loving kiss.

Elrond chose his moment wisely, and hurried away without another word.

----

Elrond slipped softly into his bedroom, shutting the door behind himself and allowing his tears to overflow at last. They coursed down his face in a silent, bitter flood.

"Elrond?"

The elf turned slowly to face the Dream-lord, whose countenance radiated sympathy. As Elrond bowed, Lórien gently put his arms around him.

"I am sorry you must suffer this," he murmured.

Elrond sniffed, struggling to maintain his composure as the Vala wiped the tears from his face with a hand. He felt like burying his face in Lórien's shoulder and sobbing until he passed out from lack of breath. But he didn't.

"Is there something you require?" the Dream-lord asked softly.

Elrond could only whisper, "Some solitude would be very much appreciated, with all due respect."

Lórien nodded, stepping back. "I understand."

Elrond sighed silently as his friend vanished like smoke on the wind. Sinking down onto his bed, he laid his head down on the pillow and almost instantaneously slid into a deep, dreamless slumber.

----

Elrond awoke to soft birdsong and warm sunlight. Sitting up, he sensed immediately that something was wrong, had changed somehow. Frowning around his bedchamber, the elf caught sight of something on his desk that had not been there the night before. Rising, he strode over to the desk and picked it up.

It was a scroll of parchment, tied with a white silken ribbon and sealed with a wax crest which showed a winged ship. Elrond carefully opened the scroll, not wanting to break the intricate seal, and read the strong, flowing script:

_Dear Elrond:_

_I don't know how to put this in words. What can I say? I was shocked when Lord Lórien gave me the news; I couldn't believe my own ears. But he showed me proof that his words were true. But not a day went by that I didn't wonder about you. A complete stranger, sent here by the Fëanturi for some unknown purpose, and not until two years later did I find out that my children's godfather is my elder son!_

_I wanted to tell Elwing everything, but Lord Lórien would not allow it. He said that Lord Mandos would be very displeased. Well, I trust him; I held my tongue. But then I wrote this letter. By the time you read it, I will be gone._

_I pray that you will forgive me for leaving you. I wish I could stay, but the Sea is calling to me constantly. Every sleeping and waking hour I hear its voice, the Horns of Ulmo singing to me. I can't ignore it, nor can I refuse the summons. I will take _Vingilot_ and sail her across Belegaer, where I hope to find Valinor. Perhaps I shall, if it is the Valar's will._

_Even as I sail further and further from you and from Arda, I will always remember you – both as the child I loved and cared for, and the lord I called my friend. Both sides of you have a place in my heart, and indeed they are the same. I will forever love you; the ends of the earth cannot separate us. We are joined in heart, blood and mind. Remember that, if nothing else. **I love you.**_

_Your father,_

_Eärendil_

The parchment slipped softly from Elrond's fingers as he buried his face in his hands, dissolving into tears of blended sorrow and joy. His father was gone in body, but not in soul. And he had not left unknowing.

Through his tears, Elrond smiled as Lórien's words from two years ago echoed softly in his mind: _It will be all right, Elrond. I swear this to you._

"Thank you," he whispered to the air. "Thank you."


	13. The Warning

**Chapter Twelve: The Warning**

Even almost two years after Eärendil's departure to Valinor, Elrond's heart still yearned for him. But he felt no desire to alter the past; the two years he had spent with his father had been the two best years of his existence. But, the elf mused to himself, certainly the last two years of his life had been every bit as joyous. And tonight was no exception.

Though the cold wind blew drifts of snow over Sirion, all of the elves were safe and warm within the haven. The New Years' festival was well underway; it was a night of talk, laughter and song. Elrond was as merry as any other elf, laughing and joking as he ate and drank of the feast that was prepared and served by willing hands.

The elf smiled warmly as a familiar figure made her way toward him; it was Caranel. The redheaded elleth was holding a tray which was giving off an enticing aroma.

"Here's a little something to take the chill off the evening," she smiled, holding out the tray. It was laden with fresh, honey-glazed muffins. Their warm, sweet scent allured his nostrils, but he was wary; the memory of the episode in Balar was still fresh in his mind.

At last he could be tempted no longer, and carefully sampled one. Its flavor surprised him as it burst on his tongue – sweet, but oddly savory as well; there was some strange spice in the mix he couldn't quite name.

Smiling appreciatively, Elrond finished the dessert and very cautiously wiped his mouth. "My compliments to the baker."

Caranel blushed furiously. "Thank you, sir. I've never tried anything like that before."

"They turned out wonderfully," Elrond complimented. "Thank you."

She turned a deeper shade of scarlet, turning away to serve a pair of elves nearby. Elrond gazed after her, remembering the day they had met. Caranel was a timid flower at first sight, but her warm heart shone brightly through once her confidence was built up.

"Good evening, Elrond," said a voice behind him.

Elrond glanced over his shoulder, rising and bowing to Lórien. The Vala was smiling, his eyes twinkling. "Is that honey I smell on your breath?"

"Yes, sire," the elf replied. "The muffins are delicious, have you tried them?"

"Not yet," said Lórien, his smile widening. "I thought you would never recover from the incident on Balar."

Elrond laughed, gesturing for the Dream-lord to be seated beside him. "Neither did I."

They talked for a long while about recent occurrences, and some not so current; the good times and the bad. They reflected on the past and speculated on the future. Elrond sighed fondly as the memories flowed through his mind.

The night wore on, and Elrond often found himself dozing off in his chair. Each time he awoke he would steal a glance at Lórien, who would only smile dismissively. But at last he chose to call it a day, and retired to his bedroom.

Lórien glided smoothly through the door after the elf, who had changed into his nightshirt and was climbing into bed. Pulling the blankets up to his chin, he smiled and yawned, "Goodnight, Lord Lórien."

"Goodnight," the Vala replied, laying a hand gently on Elrond's forehead as he had done many times before. "Sleep well."

"Thank you," the elf smiled, letting his eyes glaze over.

----

_Elrond gazed uncertainly around his new, dim environment. All about him he could hear a faint rustle of cloth, like curtains being brushed by wind, and a weird rhythmic clicking. As the elf's eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw that he was surrounded by innumerable tapestries. _

_They seemed to stretch on for miles on either side of him, like a tunnel of fabric. Glancing back, he saw a door, closed and barred. His only choice was to go forward; he followed the odd clacking sounds._

_Elrond couldn't help but gaze curiously at the tapestries he passed. They were brilliantly coloured, incredibly detailed pictures. He saw a great deal of contrasting images; war and peace, joy and sorrow; fair elves and hideous orcs. Each was so finely depicted that he half-expected them to begin moving. Some of them looked as if they were, when the faint breeze moved the cloth._

_All at once Elrond halted in his tracks, staring at a tapestry to his right. He himself was depicted there in thread. His extremely true-to-life cloth self stood beside equally precise figures of several other elves; Elrond recognized his mother and father immediately, as well as his infant self and his twin brother. _

_He knew where he was in that very instant. These were the Halls of Mandos; it could be nowhere else. No other place in the universe was filled with Time._

_Elrond continued down the long hall, watching Time unfold before him. He saw his life in thread, from his birth onward. The hall was like a labyrinth, twisting and turning. Before he knew it, he was in a wide open area with no tapestries. A woman sat in the middle of the space, her back toward him. _

_She was clad in a dress of rich fabric, and her long hair was tied back from her head with a pale ribbon. She seemed to be working some machine which was emitting the ticking noises. _

_Elrond approached her warily, not sure of how he should announce his presence. But he was spared the trouble when she turned, saw him, and smiled as she rose to her feet. The elf bowed instinctively, for the woman had an aura of authority and power around her, made even greater by the fact that she was taller than he was. _

_Her wavy hair was the hue of cinnamon, and her eyes were a peculiar, bright gold; they gleamed in her pale face like coins. Her garb was embroidered in gold thread with many runes, both strange and familiar. They shifted and changed shape constantly, becoming Elven, Dwarfish, and of some other culture Elrond didn't know._

"_I have been expecting you, Elrond Peredhel."_

_The woman's voice was sweet and melodious, but it was heavy with a burden that could not be measured. Elrond was in no doubt that she had seen more things in her life than she would have liked to remember. _

_Elrond bowed even lower, dropping to the floor. He felt he knew who she was; he had known it ever since he had seen himself in the tapestries on the walls around them. But he wanted to be sure._

"_Are you Lady Vairë?" he asked carefully, lifting only his eyes._

"_Yes," nodded the Valië (female Vala). "Get up. I have a message for you."_

_The half-elf climbed unsteadily to his feet and stepped closer to Vairë, gazing down at what she had been sitting at. It was a weaving loom; a tapestry was being made on it, but it was half-finished. He looked up again when she spoke._

"_You know of the Fëanorians," she said. It wasn't a question, but a statement. "You were told at your birth that four years would pass before they would choose to attack your father's haven."_

"_Yes," Elrond said quietly, unsure of whether he should speak or not._

_Vairë turned her gaze toward him, and he was suddenly transfixed by her glittering eyes. She held him there for a moment, then spoke again. "Four were your years then; now so are your months, your days, your hours… And," she added, "your adversaries."_

Four times four,_ Elrond caught himself thinking. But he said nothing._

_Vairë addressed him calmly and directly. "When you wake, you must warn your mother immediately. Haste may save many lives."_

"_I will act swiftly," the elf promised._

_The Valië nodded. "Then awaken, and do so."_

_----_

Elrond opened his eyes, blinking in the pale light preceding dawn. He remembered the dream, and knew exactly what he had to do. Rising, he slipped out of his bedroom and through the empty house, calling out softly as he went. But a small voice made him spin around.

"Godfather?"

It was Elrond II. The young elf stood to one side of the corridor, his wide blue eyes bright in the dimness. He took a tentative step forward, saying, "What are you doing?"

"I need to speak with your mother," Elrond I replied calmly. "Is she awake?"

"I don't know," Elrond II said quietly. "I wanted to see her too. I had a weird dream."

"Really? So did I," Elrond I concurred. "That's just what I need to speak to Lady Elwing about."

"What was your dream?" asked Elrond II, as he accompanied himself down the hall.

"Well," Elrond I replied, "I dreamt about a huge room full of tapestries with hundreds of different things on them. Good things and bad things, and they all seemed to fit together like a puzzle. Some of the tapestries had me on them."

"That's just like my dream was!" cried Elrond II. "Did you see a lady in a pretty dress with long hair and a ribbon?"

Elrond I nodded slowly; only he knew that it wasn't just coincidence. "I did; she spoke to me about something very important."

"She talked to me, too," said Elrond II. "I didn't understand most of it, though."

_Well, I did,_ Elrond I thought. He understood it all too well.

"Elrond!" cried a woman's voice.

Elf-lord and child turned to see Elwing hurrying toward them. Her eyes were filled with relief. "There you are! I've been looking all through the house for you!" She swept the young boy up into her arms, speaking to Elrond I. "Thank you for finding him."

"He found me," the half-elf replied quickly. "My lady, I desperately need to speak with you."

Elwing's face became grave and alert. "About what?"

"Lord Lórien has given me a vision," Elrond I replied. "I know when the Fëanorians will attack – _exactly_ when."

Elwing immediately put her son down, shooing him away gently. "Go to bed, Ronnie. I'll be with you in a moment."

Elrond II clung to his mother's leg. "But Nana…"

"I'll be there right away," Elwing repeated more firmly. "Run along."

The child reluctantly slunk away, and Elwing addressed Elrond I. "What vision did Lord Lórien give you?"

"I know the precise date and time that the sons of Fëanor will invade Sirion," the half-elf replied, his voice faltering. "I also know how many of them will come."

"Then tell me!" His mother's voice was urgent.

Elrond sighed heavily. "There will be four of Fëanor's sons; they will come on the fourth of April, at four in the afternoon."

"_This_ April?" Elwing gasped.

Elrond nodded. "That is correct."

Elwing bowed her head for a moment, then looked up suddenly and announced, "We must keep this a secret. No-one must know anything is wrong. But we also must prepare for invasion."

"My thoughts exactly," said Elrond grimly. "What should we do first?"


	14. Deception

**Chapter Thirteen: Deception**

Time seemed to pass at an agonizingly slow rate for the next while. Elrond and Elwing furtively prepared for the impending siege while the other elves were oblivious. It was imperative that the Fëanorians' attack remain a secret. Food stores were rationed, and an inventory was taken of weaponry and other necessary supplies.

"Everything is in order," Elrond reported to his mother. He had just finished recounting the weapons in the armory.

"Good," Elwing replied. "What time is it?"

"Just after dusk," the half-elf told her, glancing out the nearest window.

She nodded. "Get some rest, my lord."

"I'm not tired," he protested, knowing how childish he sounded.

Elwing would have none of it. "Who knows whether Lord Lórien will decide to send you another vision? Besides, you do need sleep. You look exhausted."

Elrond frowned, glancing dubiously into a mirror hanging next to him. There were slight dark circles under his eyes, and the rest of his face was pale. He shrugged submissively, starting down the hall toward his bedroom. "I might as well. Goodnight, my lady."

But at the last moment he turned back. "What day is it?"

"The twenty-ninth of March," his mother replied. "You needn't worry too much just yet. We still have time."

Elrond nodded. "Time. Yes."

But they were rapidly running out of it.

----

The elf woke in darkness after a deep, dreamless sleep. Stars twinkled calmly outside his window, but despite their soft comfort, a chill seized his heart. Today was the thirtieth of March. The sons of Fëanor would be here in only four days. Four… his unlucky number.

He rose silently from his bed, slipping down the hall on cat-feet. Relying on his keen eyes to guide him, he made his way carefully toward his mother's bedroom. But it seemed she had had a similar idea; he soon spotted her moving swiftly in his direction.

"Lord Elrond," she whispered. "I've had a dream."

Elrond frowned, sensing immediately that it was important. "What did you see?"

"I saw Lord Lórien," she answered him. "He told me that we must warn my people of the Fëanorians now. Today."

"Not just yet," Elrond replied. "Let's wait until breakfast."

Morning came bright and warm for some, but not others. Elrond and Elwing were equally uneasy about today, and for good reason. They hardly spoke as they began their morning meal, though they sat side-by-side. But at last the elf-lord leaned over and muttered in his mother's ear.

"I think it's time."

Elwing nodded once. Rising smoothly to her feet, she cleared her throat before calling out to the assembled elves in a clear voice.

"My people!" she cried. "I have a grave announcement to make."

An immediate hush fell over the entire room. A hundred pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her; she paused a moment before she spoke again.

"Four months ago I received word that the Fëanorians would attack our haven. Now I know that they will arrive here in no less than four days."

A ripple of shocked murmurs shuddered through the assembly. Elwing raised her hand for silence and continued, "Please remain calm. Everything is under control. And we still have time to prepare for the attack. I repeat, everything is under control. No-one needs to be harmed."

There was a brief silence, and then a suspicious voice rang out. "Who told you this?"

Elrond got to his feet, replying coolly, "Her words come from the Valar themselves."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "It was you!"

"Me?" Elrond said quietly, raising an eyebrow. The back of his neck prickled.

"You're the one who invited the Valar here!" yelled the elf. "You called the Doomsman! You brought him here to bring us down!"

"Warmongerer!" cried another voice.

"Who knows where he came from?" the first elf shouted, evidently heartened. "He could be a spy for the Dark Lord!"

"Traitor!" yet another elf screeched.

Now the whole crowd was on its feet, hurling the spiteful words at Elrond as if they were spears. _Spy! Betrayer! Doomsman's herald! _

Elrond broke out in a cold sweat, struggling bodily to remain steady against the terrible onslaught of verbal abuse. But soon another voice overwhelmed them all, like a great roar of thunder.

"_SILENCE!_"

A hundred elves were struck mute with shock. Two hundred wide eyes stared in horror at the dark figure who now stood on the threshold, looming like a storm. The Doomsman.

Mandos moved purposefully forward, his dark, blazing eyes fixed upon a single elf in the entire throng. The first elf who had spoken against Elrond was cowering back in his seat, sobbing in terror.

"No, lord… forgive me… I meant nothing by it… please, spare me!"

What words Mandos spoke could not be heard, but the elf's wails intensified. There was the suggestion of another word spoken, and the elf was dumbstruck.

Mandos turned away, giving a soundless nod to Elrond before swirling away in a flash of darkness.

Elrond's legs couldn't support him any longer, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed weakly into his chair; Elwing laid a gentle hand on his trembling shoulder.

----

Right after breakfast, the elf locked himself in his bedroom and didn't emerge until his growling stomach persuaded him to wander to the dining hall. His footsteps were slow and wary; every time he heard another elf's voice he would shy away from it until the sound faded.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump half a foot off the ground. He whirled around and found himself nose-to-nose with his mother.

"I wondered when you'd show your face again," she smiled benignly. "How are you?"

"Do I need to answer that?" Elrond asked softly.

Elwing glanced downward. "Oh. I see."

Elrond slumped dejectedly into a chair, resting his chin on his folded arms. Elwing seated herself next to him, saying gently, "You don't believe them, do you?"

The elf-lord didn't reply for a long while. At length he murmured, "Lord Mandos is not evil. He does only what he must. But the fact that he is the Lord of the Dead… and the coming attack from the Fëanorians… it all adds up to doubt and lies."

"They insulted you, not Lord Mandos," his mother told him. "Don't you care what they said about you?"

The elf's silence answered her question. Elwing sighed.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't believe a word of it."

He lifted his head, smiling slightly. "I know."

----

Elrond stayed up late that night, rereading his father's letter over and over by candlelight. He had had it framed and hung on the wall opposite his bed. It served as a constant reminder that no matter how difficult things would become, someone out there still loved him.

"Things aren't going well," he said aloud. Though it was unlikely anyone could hear him, it felt good to voice his worries. "They all think I'm a traitor. All but my mother. She's the only one here I can truly trust. Well," he added, "there's Caranel as well… she has a kind heart. But that doesn't change things. The sons of Fëanor will be here in four days. It doesn't look good."

"The darkest hour is before the dawn," said a calm voice behind him.

Elrond turned, a smile rising automatically to his lips. "Hello, Caranel."

The elleth bobbed a curtsy as she always did whenever they met, despite Elrond's dissent. Her blue eyes sparkled with concern.

Elrond rose to greet his guest, but a sudden thought made him freeze for a moment. Had she heard him talking about his mother?

As though she had read his mind, Caranel smiled calmly. "I didn't hear all of what you were just saying, but I heard enough to get the idea. Thanks for your kind comment."

"You're welcome," Elrond smiled. "Did you happen to be in the dining hall this morning at breakfast?"

"No, I was stuck in the kitchens scrubbing pots," the elleth sighed. "But I heard the whole incident."

"You heard it, or heard _of_ it?" Elrond frowned.

"I heard _it_. I heard the elves yelling all of those horrible things at you, and I just wanted to…" She made a wringing motion with her hands in the air. "And when Lord Mandos came, I thought my heart was going to stop."

"So did I, believe me," Elrond shuddered. "It was horrible, the way he spoke to that elf… the one who started the yelling."

"Oh, yes," nodded Caranel. "I wondered what he was sobbing about. Ruthindir is not one to show emotion."

"Other than anger, it seems," said Elrond bitterly.

"He'll get over it," Caranel told him reassuringly. "I highly doubt anything nasty will trot over his tongue for a long time."

Elrond nodded. "Thank you for believing me."

"You're welcome."

The elleth suddenly glanced out the window. "I'd better go, sire... I have things to do. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, _mellon nin,_" (my friend) Elrond smiled.

As Caranel left the room, shutting the door softly behind her, the elf-lord couldn't dismiss the horrible feeling gnawing at his mind… a flicker of doom.


	15. Premonition and Preparation

**Chapter Fourteen: Premonition and Preparation**

Elrond didn't see Caranel the next morning. He walked to the dining hall alone, seeing no sign of his comrade. There was no familiar flash of bright orange among the gold, brown and black elven heads.

The elf wasn't surprised when no servants dared offer him breakfast. He wasn't hungry, anyway. The gnawing doubt in the back of his mind continued to weather away at him. It was extremely worrisome. What was it about the young elleth that frightened him? What forewarning was his subconscious trying to give?

"Elrond?"

Lórien's voice pulled the elf sharply down to earth. He turned and bowed his head to the Dream-lord, who was gazing at him in concern.

"Are you all right?" the Vala asked.

Elrond didn't lie. "I'm worried, sire. Last night I was talking with a good friend of mine – Caranel, a servant girl – and I had a horrible feeling after she left. I'm not sure exactly what it means, but I know it's not good."

Lórien frowned. "What kind of feeling was it?"

"I just know that something terrible is going to happen. It wasn't very clear; normally my Foresight is much more accurate. Could it be that something is blocking it?"

The Vala didn't reply at once. He was beginning to have worries of his own.

----

Elrond wandered cautiously to his mother's bedroom after breakfast, having noticed her absence from the dining hall. It was most unusual for her not to be there; but then again, everything seemed to be going oddly since yesterday.

A flicker of memory slid grimly to the front of his mind; part of a conversation from four years ago: _For as godfather to himself and his brother, Elrond will be required to be near them, should his parents run into any… difficulty._

When he reached Elwing's bedroom, the door was closed tightly, but Elrond could hear his mother speaking softly within. He wondered silently who she was talking to.

"My lady?" he called, reaching out and knocking on the door.

She answered him without emerging. "Come in, please."

The half-elf entered nervously, unsure of whether he was interrupting anything. The room was empty but for Elwing, who was sitting at her desk, poring over something. She stood up when Elrond cleared his throat.

"Lord Elrond," she smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"I… you need to know something," the elf-lord replied. "It's gravely important."

Elwing nodded. "Go on."

Elrond drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he spoke again.

"I'm here to tell you that your life is in danger. You must leave as soon as you can; if the Fëanorians find you here, they will kill you to get the Silmaril you keep."

"How did you know…?" Elwing whispered, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"Eärendil told me," the half-elf sighed. "Four years ago."

His mother was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I see."

"You must leave now!" Elrond cried. "Get as far from here as you possibly can. Go where they will never think to look. Take the Silmaril with you."

Elwing sensed the urgency in the elf's voice. "Where should I go?"

"Anywhere. Just so they won't find you."

Elwing stared at him with fearful eyes. "But what about the children?"

"The children," said Elrond gently, "have their _adar-ed-Eru _(godfather) to look after them."

His mother nodded mutely, a single tear tracing her cheek. Elrond placed a kind hand on her shoulder, glancing up sharply as a knock sounded on the door. His heart skipped.

"Enter, please," Elwing called out, hastily wiping her eyes.

The door creaked slowly open, and a female voice said softly, "My lady, I was wondering whether you were hungry at all? I didn't see you at breakfast this morning."

Elwing smiled warmly at the newcomer. "Thank you for the kind thought, Caranel, but I'm fine."

Elrond's heart leapt when he saw his redheaded friend cross the threshold. Sighing in relief, he smiled, "I was beginning to worry about you, _mellon nin._ I didn't–"

But he broke off as a terrible vision surged up to his mind's eye. The young elleth, lying broken and bleeding before a tall, merciless figure with long raven hair. A seven-pointed star was embroidered on the front of his tunic.

The image was so swift and terrifying that Elrond staggered backwards in utter horror, stumbling and falling onto Elwing's bed. The impact, however cushioned, was enough to dispel the vision.

"Lord Elrond?" said his mother in concern. "What's wrong?"

Elrond waited until he had recovered his breath before he spoke.

"I… it's nothing… I'm fine."

He stood up rather shakily, clutching the bedpost for support. Elwing and Caranel both moved to help him, but he politely shrugged them off. A brand-new plan was forming in his mind; he could save both his friend and his mother.

"My lady," he said, turning to Elwing, "I was thinking that perhaps you should have a guard or an escort when you leave. For safety."

"An excellent idea," she smiled. "Whom did you have in mind?"

"Perhaps Caranel would like to accompany you," Elrond suggested, nodding toward the elleth. "If that's all right with her, of course…"

Caranel, nodded, knowing better than to ask questions. It wasn't right for a servant to be nosy.

Elrond sighed gratefully. "Thank you very much."

_You don't know how much, _he added mutely.

----

When noon rolled around, Elrond cautiously approached Lórien at the High Table. The Vala smiled warmly, nodding for the elf to sit beside him.

"I would be glad to have a word with you," he said calmly.

"You read my mind," Elrond smiled. "I was wondering about the attack. All of the elves here could easily outnumber the Fëanorians' forces, but they need someone to bring them together. But the only leaders they have ever known are gone, and…"

"You wish for me to rally them," the Dream-lord finished, "because of their suspicions against you and my brother."

"Just my thoughts," Elrond nodded. "If I'm to judge by what Ruthindir has been saying, the other elves will never answer to a herald of doom."

"And how do you expect me to unite these people?"

"You could send them a mass vision, telling them of their need to come together for their own sakes," Elrond suggested. "Perhaps tonight."

Lórien nodded pensively. "Perhaps. But the attack will not come for three days."

"That's exactly why they need to have a strong sense of togetherness beforehand," Elrond told him. "They need to be ready well in advance."

"Very well," the Vala assented. "I shall warn them tonight."

----

The next morning, every elf in Sirion seemed ten times more alert than they had the day before, thanks to Lórien. Some of them even nodded to Elrond when they passed him in the corridors. The Vala must have put in a good word on his behalf, the half-elf thought.

Several elves approached him at mealtimes, wanting to apologize for rallying against him with Ruthindir. Elrond forgave them readily, knowing that they were serious. Lórien was indeed being efficient; even Ruthindir himself seemed somewhat civil.

Elrond walked the halls of his father's house much more confidently now. As time wore on, tension mounted ever higher. True to his word, Lórien rallied the elves behind Elrond, and the half-elf became the unofficial commander of the armed forces of Sirion. Every elf was armoured and equipped with sufficient weapons.

On the fourth of April, Elrond assembled the elves of Sirion at noon for one last pre-battle announcement. Clad in Mandos' borrowed cloak, with a sword in a sheath at his hip, he stood at the High Table with the Fëanturi on either side.

"The Fëanorians will be here in only four hours," he told them. "But that will be enough time to prepare. We here outnumber them more than twenty to one, but I promise you the Fëanorians will fight like an army equal to our number. But they will not expect us to be so well-organized; we have that advantage. Even so, be ready to fight hard. The sons of Fëanor will not stop for anything. We must drive them out, never to return. Are you with me?"

A roar of approval met his ears. Elrond nodded.

"Four hours. Be ready."

----

Elrond slipped away after his speech, heading straight for the bedroom Elrond II shared with his brother. The twins were inside, sitting calmly on Elros' bed.

"Is something wrong?" the younger twin asked the elf-lord.

Elrond I didn't bother to explain the circumstances. It was better for them not to know everything right now.

"Listen to me, you two," he said firmly. "This is very important. I want you to stay here and don't make any noise at all. Can you do that for me?"

Both brothers nodded solemnly, putting their fingers to their lips in a promise of silence. Elrond I sighed gratefully.

"That's right. Just like two little mice. And don't come out of this room, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?"

Sensing the seriousness in their godfather's voice, Elros and Elrond II both nodded again. Elrond I patted them both on the shoulder. "Good boys. Stay here, and keep very quiet. Like mice."

The half-elf hurried back to his troops, organizing them swiftly. Everything was in place, everyone knew their roles. Time crept by; elves held their breath, waiting...

After what seemed ages, the sun slid to four o'clock.

And the haven's gate burst open with a crash.


	16. Fallen Stars

**Chapter Fifteen: Fallen Stars**

The door banged open, revealing the four figures who stood on the threshold. They were all elves; three had bright red hair, one had ebony locks. All four wore tunics emblazoned with a seven-pointed star, the symbol of the House of Fëanor.

Elrond was ready for them. Concealed behind a wide, carven pillar, he slowly unsheathed his sword. A swift jerk of his head told his troops to brace themselves. He could see the eldest of the four elves – a tall, one-handed redhead – nod silently to his companions as well. He took a step forward. Just one.

It was enough.

"_Now!_" Elrond shouted, flinging himself out from behind the column. "For Sirion!"

The intruders were caught completely off-guard. No less than a hundred elves poured into the room, armor and weapons gleaming. The one at the head of the host wore a cloak of some shimmering fabric over his breastplate. His blue eyes blazed with anger; as he leapt forward, the other elves followed him.

The invaders whipped their own weapons out, and charged into the fray. Steel clashed on steel as elf fought against elf. No-one heeded the dim shadow lurking at the far corner of the room. Waiting.

----

Elrond II huddled together with his brother, both elflings trembling. Not a word passed their lips; each remembered the words of their _adar-ed-Eru_. Stay put, keep quiet. Don't open the door, no matter what.

But that didn't help to guard them against the horrors outside the door. Screams ripped through the air, coupled with cruel laughter and angered yells. And the smell, the horrible smell of something dark and evil. It was the stench of death.

A sudden thud on the door caused both twins to squeal in fright, their tremors redoubling. The terrible smell was even stronger now.

On a sudden impulse, Elros slid off of the bed and crawled beneath it. His twin followed him, both gazing fearfully out through the slight gap between the edge of the coverlet and the floor. All they could see was the bottom of the locked bedroom door.

"What's happening?" Elrond II whispered in his brother's ear.

"I don't know," Elros replied in a hushed voice. "But it's not good."

The two young brothers shrank back, wide blue eyes glinting in the darkness underneath the bed. Their hearts beat rapidly in fear, but each drew some comfort from the presence of the other.

They slowly wrapped their arms about each other's shoulders, hoping to banish their fear through togetherness. It worked, if only a little. The battle still raged on outside the door.

----

Maedhros, son of Fëanor scanned the chamber as he swung his sword at the mass of elves who were backing him slowly against a wall. He lifted his right arm and pushed a lock of red hair out of his face, using the end of the stump where his right hand had once been. His left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, the blade of which glistened crimson.

Where was Elwing? Maedhros knew that the lady of this haven held one of his father's jewels, the Silmarils. But staring around the battle-torn room, he could see no sign of her. The coward! She must be hiding.

The elf fought madly against the pressing tide of bodies. He had seen his brothers vanish in the thick of the mêlée, and had heard the dying screams of two. His youngest brothers, the twins Amrod and Amras. Maedhros had already avenged their deaths tenfold, but still there seemed no end to the forces of Sirion.

And that elf. The one who had appeared at the head of the army… he was the only one who seemed unfazed by the skirmish. There wasn't a single cut anywhere on him. How was that possible? Either he was an incredible warrior, or just plain lucky.

Maedhros focused all of his sight on that strange elf. Perhaps he could convince the elf to join his forces. He could use a fighter like that, one who was invincible. Or so it seemed.

The plan boiled in his head. It was brilliant.

Maedhros swiftly cut a swathe through the room, advancing steadily toward the elf in the shimmering cloak. A dim shadow followed in his wake, pausing here and there to gather up the fallen.

----

Elrond saw the son of Fëanor struggling toward him, and frowned in suspicion. Whatever Maedhros' sudden intentions were, they couldn't be for good.

The half-elf parried a blow from a raven-haired elf bearing the Fëanorian emblem, and ducked away. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the red-haired elf bearing down on him. If it was a fight he wanted, then a fight he would get.

Elrond turned to face his foe, but Maedhros let his sword fall to his side. Elrond tensed, refusing to let his guard down. His blue eyes searched the elf's stern face.

"Easy, friend," said the redhead, an oily smile rising to his lips. "I just want to talk."

Elrond let his sword hand drop, but didn't release the weapon. "Then be quick about it. I have better things to do than bandy crooked words with murderers!"

"Harsh words," Maedhros said coolly. "But as you say, I will be swift. I was wondering whether you might consider joining _my_ side of the battle. I could use someone like you. Someone who knows how to fight and escape unscathed. A real warrior."

"The true value of a warrior is not measured by physical strength," Elrond replied icily. "The heart is more important than the body. And all I see in your heart is blackness."

Maedhros winced, as though the half-elf's words had wounded him. "You have quite the tongue in your head, my good elf."

"I am not your_ good elf,_" Elrond snarled. "I give the orders around here."

A light sparked in Maedhros' deep grey eyes, which widened slightly. Now he knew why the elf's face was so familiar…

"But of course, Lord Eärendil," he smiled silkily, stepping back and bowing slightly. "I did not recognize you at first. Tell me… where is your wife? I believe she has something I want."

Elrond drew a breath. Maedhros thought he was his father!

"Elwing is gone," he said after a split-second's hesitation. "I don't know where she went. In any case, what you seek is lost."

"You lie," Maedhros hissed.

"I do not." Elrond's face remained impassive.

"We'll see about that," Maedhros whispered cruelly. "Let's see if you'll co-operate once your heart is hanging out!"

----

Still lying beneath the bed, Elrond II and his brother held their breath, their small bodies tensing as an indistinct form swirled into view just beyond them. The figure was wearing an ankle-length, smoke-grey robe. He knelt slowly, peering under the bed.

The terrified twins moved further into the darkness, but the person smiled calmly at them, his blue eyes glimmering in his fair face. It was Lórien.

"Be not afraid, young ones," he whispered gently. "I am a friend."

The brothers shared a curious glance. Elrond II inched forward, replying, "Who are you?"

"My name is unimportant at this time," the Vala told him. "I have come to guard you."

"Where is our godfather?" asked Elros in a quavery voice.

Lórien hesitated for a moment. "He cannot come to you now, but he will be here soon. I promise you this."

The elfling nodded, but he still had another query. "What's going on outside?"

"Never mind," the Dream-lord replied softly. "You two have been very brave. I want you to continue obeying your godfather's orders. Can you?"

The twins nodded, withdrawing once again into the shadows. Lórien sighed silently as he straightened up.

_Fight hard, Elrond,_ he whispered mutely. _Get out while there is still time._

----

Elrond I battled with every ounce of his will. He thanked Mandos endlessly for his cloak, which meant he was completely unharmed. The same couldn't be said for Maedhros, who was bleeding in over a dozen places.

The red-haired elf spat blood as he raised his sword yet again. "Not finished yet, eh? You certainly are resilient."

"Oh, yes," said Elrond dryly. "I just keep bouncing back, don't I?"

"Indeed," muttered Maedhros. "You do indeed."

They fought on; Elrond steadily forced Maedhros back. Some of the surviving elves of Sirion came forth to join the fray, but all were dissuaded. This was to be between Elrond and Maedhros alone.

The two elves circled, swaying like snakes; their blades flicked back and forth, glittering silver and scarlet. Steel and blood.

Maedhros swung his sword in an arc toward Elrond's throat. The raven-haired elf ducked the blow, although it would have made no difference if he hadn't moved. A swift swipe from Elrond's blade sent Maedhros' weapon flying; it buried itself point-first in a crack in the wall. Elrond seized the moment to flee.

But he didn't see the two elves who followed, in a flash of flame and shadow.

Elrond sprinted down the corridor toward the twin's bedroom, gasping for breath as pain seared from a stitch in his side. His negligence to look back proved ill for him, as a strong hand grasped a fistful of his cloak and dragged him backward.

The breath was forced from Elrond's lungs as his back struck the flagstones of the floor; he stared up into a pair of cruel grey eyes, in a pale face framed by dark hair. Maglor, son of Fëanor.

The brooch that held his cloak was pressing into his neck; Elrond reached up to loosen it and felt the clasp unfasten completely. The cloak fell away in his foe's hand. Ignoring it, the half-elf scrabbled to his feet and ran on.

Gasping breaths told him his pursuers were hard on his heels. The half-elf skidded to a halt outside the bedroom door, frantically rattling the latch. It was no good; Elrond would have to face his enemies in all of his vulnerability.

The two sons of Fëanor grinned in breathless triumph as they cornered their helpless victim. Elrond stared desperately around him for some means of escape, finding none. He gripped his sword tightly, refusing to go down without a fight.

The brothers acted swiftly. Maglor, being the less injured of the two, leapt forward and grabbed the half-elf by the throat, pinning him firmly to the wall. Elrond struggled madly to breathe beneath his captor's hand. Maglor grinned wickedly, his nose less than an inch from Elrond's.

"Not so invincible now, are you, Eärendil?" he sneered. "We'll find your wife. We'll get what we want. And there's nothing you can do to stop us."

"Isn't there?" Elrond panted.

The other elf had no time to react before Elrond's knee came up swiftly between his legs. Maglor doubled over in agony, releasing his prisoner at the same time. Elrond slumped to the floor, gasping.

He clambered to his feet, stepping over Maglor's folded form toward Maedhros. The two elves faced off again, both worse for the wear. Battered, bleeding and breathless, they had about the same advantage.

The fight was over more quickly than either could have guessed. After not more than two minutes, Elrond was on the floor next to Maglor, fighting to remain conscious. He could do nothing but watch as Maedhros forced open the door to the twins' bedchamber and charged inside.

The last thing Elrond heard before he passed out was the sound of two children's terrified screams.


	17. Hostage or House Guest?

**Chapter Sixteen: Hostage or House Guest?**

Elrond regained his senses slowly. The first thing he realized, however vaguely, was that his head was throbbing fit to burst. The second was that he was in a sitting position, with coarse bonds tight around his wrists.

His eyesight returned, but his environment was too dim to see anything clearly. What he could discern was the chair he was tied to, and the nearest walls of the room he was in. It didn't look anything like his father's house. Where was he?

"Awake, are you?"

The cold voice cut into his ears. Elrond stared uneasily through the dimness, and squinted as a torch flared to life, illuminating the pitiless features of a red-haired figure who stood a few feet away. A second figure, with long, black hair, stood behind him. The last sons of Fëanor.

Elrond found his voice, and addressed the redhead. "Where am I, Maedhros?"

Maedhros smirked. "You don't need to know that. All that matters now is that you are my prisoner, along with your sons."

_My sons?_ Elrond frowned silently. Then he remembered that Maedhros had mistaken him for Eärendil. He would have to continue to play the part.

"Where are my children?" he demanded.

Maedhros pointed his torch toward his right, and Elrond followed the circle of light with his eyes. It revealed what looked like a small prison cell hewn from the wall, with metal bars across the opening. Peering fearfully out from between them were two raven-haired elflings.

"Thank goodness you're all right," Elrond I murmured to them.

They both nodded. "Are _you_ okay?" Elrond II asked.

"I've been better," Elrond I replied, turning to glare at his captors.

Maedhros' dark, venomous eyes narrowed. "Be thankful you're alive. I could have done a lot worse to the three of you, and I could still. Remember that."

The captive elf-lord fell silent, silently weighing his situation. He was a prisoner in Eru-knew-where, held by two elves who slew their own kind. And… Elrond suddenly bristled in rage.

Maedhros was wearing his cloak! _His_ cloak, given to him by the Doomsman of the Valar. The red-haired elf had no idea what its powers were, but Elrond could do nothing to keep him from finding out.

Maedhros caught Elrond's hateful stare, and smiled absently as he fingered the garment.

"Nice, isn't it?" he simpered. "It doesn't do too much to keep me warm, though. Spoils of war, I suppose." He smirked at the venomous expression on his captive's face.

"You don't know what you're doing," Elrond said coldly.

"I believe I do," the redhead replied. "I'm holding you and your sons hostage until I get what I want from you… information on the whereabouts of your wife. And you _will_ give it to me."

"How many times do I have to tell you this?" Elrond cried out in exasperation. "Elwing is gone. The Silmaril is lost. We are of no value to you!"

Maedhros' mouth twisted in rage as he clenched and unclenched his fist. His fingers were itching to twine around a certain elf's throat. But he dared not. Not yet.

"Fine," he spat. "Maybe a few days on an empty stomach will teach you to co-operate. And if not, you'll feel the whip. Maglor," he snarled over his shoulder. "Throw Eärendil in with his whelps."

The raven-haired elf cut through Elrond's bonds, hauling him to his feet and leading him forcibly around a corner. Maedhros followed behind, setting down his torch so he could open the barred door of the cell, and slam it shut a moment later.

Elrond gasped in pain as he hit the cold stone floor. The twins scrambled out of the way when he fell, but darted back a moment later to help him up. The elf-lord put his arms gently around the elflings, even as he shot an icy glare toward the two Kinslayers.

"Make yourself at home," Maedhros said curtly. "And don't expect a nice, hot breakfast in the morning."

"Don't worry, I won't," the half-elf muttered.

----

Elrond was jolted rudely to wakefulness by a bucket of cold water hitting him squarely in the face. His ill mood lasted for the next long while, which, as promised, did not include meals. The elf-lord languished in his cell, starving almost to the point of death. The only things scheduled in Elrond's days were the regular interrogation periods, when Maedhros and Maglor would remove the elf's tunic and shirt and tie him facedown onto a table, whips at the ready.

Each elf would ask Elrond a question, and wait impatiently for an answer. A satisfying response would merit no punishment; replies that angered his captors earned him a stripe across the shoulders or back. And unfortunately, the latter dominated. Elrond's back bled liberally after each session, and neither Maedhros nor Maglor would offer him any means of healing his wounds.

After almost a week of the same terrible routine, the half-elf was so weak movement was nearly impossible. His whole body was a mess of red lash scars and dark purple bruises – the sons of Fëanor had recently added regular beatings to his agenda. Both he and the twins were pitifully thin from starvation. Elrond began to lose hope in ever being free.

The first surprise came a few days later, when Maedhros relented slightly, and gave them small amounts of food and water, as well as tending to Elrond I's wounds. The prisoners slowly regained their strength.

The sons of Fëanor eventually began to treat Elrond (both elf-lord and child) and Elros as guests rather than hostages. A strange sort of friendship blossomed between them. Elrond I held grudges at first, but those too faded in time; yet Maedhros and Maglor still called the elf-lord Eärendil.

But Elrond had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He still didn't know what had become of his mother and Caranel. Maedhros and Maglor had accepted (at length) that Elwing was indeed gone, and the Silmaril was lost to them. But there had been no news of the redheaded elleth. And Mandos and Lórien had been unsettlingly absent.

As the elf-lord retired one night to the guest bedroom he now used instead of a dungeon cell, he had barely let his eyes glaze when a familiar grey-clad figure swirled into view, a calm smile on his face and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Elrond gasped in surprise and relief, rising respectfully from his bed and bowing low.

"I wondered when I would see you again, sire."

Lórien nodded calmly. "I feared for you. But it seems Fëanor's sons have been treating you well, at least of late."

Elrond smiled. "Indeed. Though I must admit, for a long time I feared I would be called to Lord Mandos' halls before my time."

"Maedhros and Maglor would not certainly grant you that mercy," said a deep voice, as a second form swirled into view: the Doomsman of the Valar.

Elrond bowed to Mandos as well, remarking, "And yet they seemed intent on letting me starve to death. Who knows what they were thinking?"

But he paused a moment, remembering that Mandos would indeed know what the sons of Fëanor had been thinking, for the Vala had been granted knowledge of all things that had been, and were, and would be.

Mandos smiled slightly, apparently reading the elf's mind. "Indeed."

Elrond suddenly had a horrible feeling deep in his heart. Mandos was the Keeper of the Dead, the summoner of slain spirits… which meant that he would know whether Elwing was alive or… otherwise. He didn't want to think that word.

The Doomsman's eyes shimmered sadly as he studied Elrond's thoughts again. He knew of Elwing's fate. But did he dare risk breaking Elrond's heart?

He sighed silently. If it had to be done, so it would be.

"Elrond," he said softly, "there is something you must know."

The elf stared at the Vala with tears in his eyes. "I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me that my mother has died."

The Doomsman nodded, but his expression indicated that he wished to say more. The elf held his tears at bay, waiting for the Vala to speak again.

"Elwing did come to my halls," Mandos continued calmly. "But she did not linger there. Ulmo and I held council with Manwë, and your mother was granted new life. She is now in Valinor with your father."

Elrond sobbed in relief. His mother was alive! Gone, yes, but alive and well.

"I should tell the twins of this," he said, wiping his eyes. "They need to know."

"Then go," Mandos told him.

----

Elrond slipped quietly into the next room, where two raven-haired elflings lay asleep in their beds. The elf-lord reached out to each, shaking their shoulders gently.

"Elrond, Elros… wake up…"

The twins stirred, blinking as they came awake. Both wore sleepily puzzled expressions.

"What's wrong?" a groggy Elros asked as he sat up.

"I need to tell you both something," Elrond I whispered. "It's very important."

"What is?" Elrond II frowned.

The elf-lord drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly in a sigh. "It's about your mother."

Both elflings were instantly alert. "Nana? What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Elrond I reassured the twins gently. "She's alive and safe, somewhere very far from here, with your Ada. But… I'm afraid she can't come back."

Elrond II's eyes brimmed with glistening tears. "You mean we'll never see her again?"

Elrond I nodded, tears spilling down his own face as he put his arms tenderly around the young boys. "Yes. That's right."

Both twins buried their faces in Elrond I's tunic, their sobs muffled in the fabric. Elrond I let his tears fall freely, not caring who saw them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for everything."


	18. Sadness and Shock

**Chapter Seventeen: Sadness and Shock**

"It wasn't your fault, Godfather," said Elrond II softly, looking up into the elf-lord's eyes. "You didn't know it would happen."

Elrond I gazed silently down at his younger self, who gently brushed the moisture from his face with a small hand. The half-elf gave a small smile at the gesture, turning his head to look out of the bedroom's one window. Stars twinkled in the dusky sky, and one shone out brighter than the rest. Elrond I pointed out to it, saying, "Do you see that bright star, there?"

The twins followed his finger, nodding. "What about it?"

"Well," the elf-lord answered, smiling quietly, "that star is your Ada, sailing through the sky on his silver ship."

Elros stared at him in surprise. "That's Ada?"

Elrond I nodded. "Yes indeed. Do you know how he got there?"

"How?" Elrond II piped up.

"It all started when your father left Sirion, two years ago," Elrond I replied, remembering the tales and songs he had heard. "He was sailing across the Sea because of his desire to see the Undying Lands of Valinor…"

He went on to describe how Eärendil and three of his friends had set sail across Belegaer in search of the Undying Lands, but never caught a glimpse of what they were seeking. He recalled the attack upon Sirion, and told of how Eärendil was speeding homeward at the time, but was too late in coming.

"Your mother escaped," Elrond continued, "with something that the Fëanorians had been looking for. It was a very special jewel called a Silmaril; there were three of them in all. Your mother took the Silmaril and fled to the shores of the Sea, where…" He faltered. "Where she cast herself and the Silmaril into the Sea, and… and drowned."

The twins stared at him in silent horror, tears welling up in their eyes again. Elrond drew a deep breath, turning and gazing briefly up at Eärendil's star. As the silvery light bathed his face, he felt some strange spark flicker to life within him. Somehow strengthened, he continued on from where he had left off.

"But," he said, "hope wasn't lost then. For although your mother did die, she was granted new life by the Valar, who gave to her the body of a great white swan. The Silmaril was left to shine upon her breast. Lord Ulmo lifted her from the depths of the ocean, and she flew up into the sky, looking for your father. And at last she found him.

"But she was so wearied by the long journey that as soon as she reached Eärendil's ship, Elwing fell into a faint on the deck. Eärendil found her there, and he slept that night at her side. And when he awoke in the morning, he found her as he had always known her, as a beautiful elven lady.

"Then your parents searched for Valinor again, and found it at last. Eärendil told Elwing to stay behind, for it was his destiny to set foot in Valinor alone. Elwing waited for him upon the shores when he went to a city called Tirion, but soon wandered to a haven called Alqualondë, where she befriended the elves living there. Eärendil found her there when he returned.

"They were both summoned to Tirion again by the Valar, who told them that they could choose to be counted among Elves or Men. Elwing chose to be counted among the elves, and so Eärendil did as well.

"Then the Valar built your mother a tower by the ocean to live in, and they took Eärendil and his ship to the Door of Night in the far reaches of Valinor. Eärendil sailed through the gate and into the night sky, with the Silmaril set in a circlet upon his head. And so you see him now."

He stopped for a much-needed breath. The elflings were staring at him in silence, and the elf-lord wondered whether they had taken in a word of the tale.

"So… if Ada and Nana won't come back, then who will take care of us?" asked Elros, in a quavery voice.

"I will," Elrond I replied gently, embracing his little brother and his younger self. "That's what being a godfather means. Your parents chose me to be the one to look after you if anything happened to them. And I always will."

Elrond II gazed fondly up at the elf-lord, whispering, "I love you, _Adar-ed-Eru._"

Elrond I smiled quietly as well. "I love you, too… both of you."

They sat for a long while in silence, folded in each other's arms, and eventually soothed to sleep by the cool light of the stars and the warm glow of the promise of love.

----

The elf-lord woke up slowly the next morning, and sensed immediately that something was wrong. It was far too quiet in the house. The twins were still asleep, curled into little snoring balls at the foot of the bed, where the coverlet hung off and trailed onto the floor.

"Morning, Godfather," yawned a groggy voice.

The elf-lord turned, smiling as he watched the tousle-haired head of his younger brother rise slowly up from the blankets.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Elrond laughed.

The boy gave a tired smile. "What time izzit?"

"Just past nine," Elrond replied, glancing out the window. "Time for breakfast – as soon as you're dressed. I'd better do the same."

Careful not to disturb his younger self, the half-elf rose from the bed, stretching as he did so. He glanced briefly back at the sleeping child, then slipped back to his own bedroom to dress.

Striding over to his writing desk once he was clothed, the elf picked up a folded scrap of parchment that had not been there the day before. Frowning slightly, he silently read the flowing script:

_Lord Eärendil:_

_Maglor and I have gone on an excursion of sorts. We hope to be back within two weeks at the earliest. You are in charge until we return._

_Maedhros_

The elf's scowl deepened, his forehead furrowing. What kind of expedition were they on? He could only wonder. Ah, well… he was sure he'd find out soon enough.

----

The week passed by far too slowly for Elrond's liking. The elves of Maedhros' household were dutiful, but quiet; they followed his orders quickly and without question. It was quite unnerving to see them all striding smoothly here and there, not even glancing around as they went about their work. And they were all strangers to him; he had at least known some of the servants' names in Sirion.

Nearly every waking hour, Elrond wondered where Maedhros and Maglor had gone off to. Mandos and Lórien certainly weren't letting on. It was a time of very mixed emotions; confusion about the two sons of Fëanor, sorrow for his mother's departure, and worry of another lost kinswoman, Caranel. There had been absolutely no word of her.

The elf-lord sighed quietly in remembrance of his friend. The elleth's face swam before his mind's eye; he could see every tiny sparkle in her sapphire eyes, every coppery glitter in her fiery hair. She looked so unbelievably real, so close, that he could almost hear her breathing…

But a soft voice in his ear caused the vision to vanish without a trace.

"Godfather, are you okay?"

It was Elrond II. Elrond I stared silently down at himself; the boy was gazing up at him in concern, a slight frown upon his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

The elf-lord nodded, forcing a smile to his face. "I'm fine, Elrond. Why?"

"You look sad," the child said matter-of-factly, climbing up onto his godfather's knee. "I don't like it when you're sad. Don't cry."

Elrond I sniffed slightly. "Sometimes it's good to cry. Not all tears are bad. We all need to show our feelings. Sometimes I just sit and think about everything that has ever made me unhappy, and I cry and cry until I can't anymore."

"What then?" Elrond II inquired.

"Then…" The elf-lord smiled slightly. "I remember that there's much more than sadness in the world. There's light and happiness, love and hope, and all things that are good. The bad things may sometimes seem like everything, but they're not. They all go away sooner or later.

"But while they're there, you should never lose sight of the good things. They are what get you through the darkness. Hope, love, happiness, light… they're all worth it, in the end. So you should never stop fighting for them."

Elrond II was silent, a meditative look on his face. He nodded slowly, understandingly. "I get it, I think. Don't stop thinking about the good stuff, even when the bad stuff's all you can see."

Elrond I nodded, smiling. "That's right. There will always be a star shining somewhere to light your way."

"Will it be Ada's star?" the child asked.

The elf-lord nodded. "Yes. Your ada will always be there to guide you… and so will I."

----

Maedhros and Maglor returned after another long week. Elrond was extremely glad to see them return; it had been a very strange fortnight.

"I hope you were able to manage," Maedhros told the half-elf, after hanging his cloak and removing the haversack that was slung over his shoulder. He set the pack down onto a small table nearby; whatever was inside gave a small, muffled clinking noise.

Elrond gave a casual shrug. "It was certainly interesting while you were gone. Is Maglor here?"

"He's just getting the rest of our baggage," the red-haired elf replied. "He'll be inside in a moment."

Elrond nodded, but something about Maedhros' words rankled him. He was beginning to get an all-too-familiar ache in the back of his skull. But it wasn't due to injury or stress; it was premonition.

The elf then heard Maglor's voice, speaking softly and gently to someone he couldn't yet see.

"Come on now, it's all right… no-one's going to hurt you. That's it, good girl…"

Elrond frowned as he stared past Maedhros and through the half-open doorway, to where Maglor was leading a trembling, dark-haired elleth toward the door.

The girl was clad in a grimy, ragged dress that had seem much better days. Her pale face was streaked with mud, and her blue eyes were dull and downcast. She moved as though her feet were chained to lead weights. All the while Maglor urged her forward, soothing and reassuring her.

Elrond was utterly appalled. He stared at Maedhros, shock and disbelief starkly evident in his widened eyes.

"_Baggage?_" he cried. "A living, breathing elf is _baggage?_"


	19. Hidden Fires

**Chapter Eighteen: Hidden Fires**

"Oh, did I say 'baggage'?" Maedhros corrected himself quickly. "I meant another guest. We found her when we were coming back from our little trip. Poor thing… she was lost, alone and nearly dead when we found her. But she hasn't spoken one word in all the time we've known her. That's why we named her Wenúbeth."

Elrond mutely translated the name in his head: 'Maiden of No Words'. It definitely suited her, however sad it was.

"Is she to be treated as a guest or a captive?" he asked, reluctantly dredging up memories of his first week in Maedhros' custody.

"Oh, a guest, certainly," the redhead replied offhandedly. "I was wondering whether you might be willing to look after her, as you've done such a good job taking care of things in the absence of Maglor and I."

Elrond nodded. "It would be a pleasure."

He didn't add how he had felt strangely connected to the elleth from the moment he had laid eyes on her. And the ache in his head had not subsided in the least.

----

Even for days afterward, neither Maedhros nor Maglor would tell anyone where they had gone for two weeks. Dozens of questions boiled ceaselessly in Elrond's mind. Where had the brothers journeyed? What did they travel there for? Where had they found Wenúbeth?

Wenúbeth. That strange, silent elleth. Maglor regarded her as the guest she was supposed to be, but on more than one occasion Elrond had had to forcibly prevent Maedhros from treating her like someone lower than the meanest slave. It was made even more atrocious to him when the half-elf overheard a conversation between the sons of Fëanor that night.

"I don't know why we even brought her here," the red-haired elf snarled. "Just one more mouth to feed, that's all she is."

"She is a living being," Maglor sighed. "And she should be treated as such."

"Then you do that," Maedhros snapped. "She's not my responsibility."

"No, you shrugged that off as quickly as possible," muttered Maglor. "Do you know what your problem is, brother? You've been so wrapped up in lies and thievery that you don't know how to show mercy anymore. It was your idea to go out searching for the other two Silmarils. 'Steal them from Eönwë's camp,' you said. 'It'll be a piece of cake compared to Sirion.' I doubt you even gave a thought to what could happen."

"Nothing _happened_," Maedhros retorted. "We're both fine."

"We are thieves, Maedhros!" Maglor cried. "The curse of Mandos is upon us! Something _has_ to happen!"

"Well, you be sure to let me know if it does," said Maedhros curtly.

"Oh, it will," Maglor told him, in a voice of abrupt venomous quiet. "Believe me, it will."

He buried his hand in his cloak and drew it out again; he now held a small, cloth-wrapped bundle with two conspicuous bulges to it. When he shifted it slightly, the contents clinked softly together.

Slowly, and with the utmost caution, Maglor pulled at the top fold of fabric with his free hand. The bundle was opened in a sudden burst of light.

Two perfect jewels lay in the elf's palm; they looked like large, many-faceted diamonds; but they couldn't have been. No diamonds had ever gleamed with their own pure, silver-gold radiance. No diamonds were ever so unsullied. No… these were not mere diamonds. They were the Silmarils.

Maedhros stared down at the jewels, his face bathed in their light. An uncanny gleam was in his eyes, of hunger, malice and lust. He reached his hand out slowly, barely harnessing his greed. Maglor did nothing to prevent him from taking them.

But something else did.

In the very instant Maedhros' fingertips brushed the nearest Silmaril, he let out a yell of pain. When he jerked his hand back, a thin wisp of smoke and an acrid stench lingered in the air. It was coming from the elf's own skin. The fingertips that had touched the jewel's crystal surface were burnt raw, and blood was trickling slowly down to Maedhros' wrist. The elf cringed, fighting back tears of anguish.

"You see?" Maglor whispered, concealing the jewels again. "We cannot keep them. Their fire will burn us if we try to touch them. We are cursed, Maedhros. Nothing can redeem us of our evil ways. Accept that."

Maedhros' upper lip curled into an ugly snarl. "Get rid of them, then! Cast them into the Sea. Bury them in the earth. I don't care how. Just rid us of them!"

Elrond had heard more than enough. He slipped away on silent feet, his mind reeling with this new notion of thievery and doom.

----

_They stole the Silmarils. They stole the **Silmarils**. They **stole** the Silmarils. From the herald of Manwë! How treacherous can an elf get?_

Elrond's mind boiled with furious thoughts as he made his way through the house toward his bedroom. Maedhros and Maglor had stolen the two most valuable things in Arda, for their own benefit alone. And Maedhros had been burned by the jewels… that had to mean something.

Of course. He remembered now. In all the tales he had ever heard of the Silmarils, they had burned the hands of their holders only if that person had had evil in his heart. And to all apparent purposes, Maedhros fit the bill perfectly.

Elrond halted in his tracks and spun on his heel, heading back the way he had come. He and the sons of Fëanor were going to have a little talk, right now.

But the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, tangled in his own arms and legs, as well as those of a familiar dark-haired elleth, who was muttering agitatedly, "Forgive me, sir, I should have been watching where I was going…"

"That's quite all right," Elrond replied, as they both carefully extricated themselves from each other's limbs. "I wasn't being very observant either."

She suddenly stared at him. "Are you the one they call Eärendil?"

"Yes," Elrond nodded. "That's what they call me."

But suddenly he frowned in confusion. "Wenúbeth?"

The elleth looked embarrassedly down at her feet. "Yes."

"You can speak," the half-elf realized. "Maedhros told me you were a mute. That's why he named you Wenúbeth."

The girl snorted in contempt. "No words for him. Not the one-handed. He never wanted to bring me here; that was Maglor's idea alone. I can see the darkness in Maedhros' soul. Everything's black. Black like earth… that's how he treated me. Like dirt, and worse."

"I heard Maedhros and Maglor talking," Elrond told her. "Maglor spoke up for you."

"Then he seems good, at least," Wenúbeth nodded. "I know he thinks well of you."

"Maedhros seemed to as well," Elrond muttered. "Up until a few minutes ago."

"What happened?" Wenúbeth asked.

Elrond sighed. "Maedhros and Maglor stole something of great value from the herald of Manwë. Two things, actually."

"Silmarils?"

"Yes," the elf-lord nodded.

"And did they burn?" Wenúbeth hissed maliciously. "Was there fire and blood?"

"Maedhros was burned, but Maglor never touched them," Elrond replied, shying slightly back from the girl. "I think he was afraid."

"Fear can drive an elf to madness," said the elleth matter-of-factly.

"Maedhros is the mad one," the half-elf replied bitterly. "Maglor was sensible. He didn't want to steal the Silmarils, but Maedhros persuaded him with his cunning."

Wenúbeth scoffed. "That snake. I don't want anything to do with him."

"Then you had best turn and walk away in the other direction," said Elrond calmly. "You were headed straight for his bedchamber."

"So were you."

"I had meant to have a talk with them," the half-elf replied. "But I'm not sure if I want to now."

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Wenúbeth bobbed Elrond a curtsy. "I had best get back to my duties, sir. If you'll excuse me…"

She moved softly past him as she strode away. Her hair blew out a little behind her, the ends brushing his tunic and leaving thin brownish smears. Elrond frowned down at them, then called after the retreating girl. "Wait."

She turned back, a slight frown on her face. "Yes?"

Elrond took a few steps toward her, saying, "With due respect, I think you should really consider washing your hair."

"I have never been shown such conveniences here," Wenúbeth replied.

"Then it's about time someone did show them to you," said Elrond. "Follow me, please."

Elrond led the elleth to a room on the other side of the house, furnished with many basins on pedestals that served as sinks. A few bottles of liquid stood side-by-side at each, next to pitchers of water.

Elrond walked over to the nearest stand, which was just high enough for him to work at. A stool stood in front of the pedestal; Wenúbeth seated herself uncertainly, leaning back as the elf-lord bade her.

Elrond gently gathered the girl's hair in his hands and let it fall into the basin. He wet her grimy locks with clean water from the ewer, then reached out for a bottle. It contained some type of soap in liquid form. The half-elf dispensed it into his hand, rubbing the stuff gently into Wenúbeth's hair from roots to ends. Then he rinsed away the resulting frothy lather with more water.

"There," he smiled. "Much better."

He handed the elleth a clean towel, which she used to wipe her hair dry. Her locks were revealed to be a dull, mousy brown when she was finished. Elrond frowned slightly as he walked around her. Something still didn't feel quite right.

Wenúbeth was examining her hair as well as Elrond, twisting a long, wavy lock between her fingers. Her blue eyes were narrowed slightly, as if she were in deep thought.

"This is different," she muttered. "It was different before. My hair, I mean."

"Different?" Elrond inquired, his pulse beating much faster now. "Different how? When exactly is 'before'?"

"Before I came here," Wenúbeth replied, still staring at her hair. "Before I left Sirion."

"Sirion!" Elrond cried. "You came from Sirion?"

"Yes," the girl nodded. "I was a servant there." She lifted her eyes to look into his face. "I remember you, too. They call you Eärendil here, but I don't think…"

She frowned, and suddenly gasped in shock. "But… it can't be!"

"_What_ can't be?"

"I know you!" Wenúbeth exclaimed. "You're not Eärendil, you're… _Lord Elrond!_"

"Yes," Elrond told her, his pulse racing. "Yes! It's me! But who are you?"

"I was different," Wenúbeth said feverishly. Her voice was rising in excitement. "My hair was different, a different color. It used to be brighter… bright orange."

Elrond began to sob in joy, tears running down his face as he smiled. He threw his arms around her, whispering elatedly into her ear.

"I knew there was something about you… ever since I first saw you! Even before I knew your name, I knew you… _Caranel!_"


	20. Wishes and Warfare

**Chapter Nineteen: Wishes and Warfare**

They pulled away, and Elrond gently grasped a strand of Caranel's hair, scowling at it.

"Who did this?" he murmured. "Your hair was beautiful, and now…"

Caranel sniffed. "I think I know who did it. It must have been Maedhros; he hates me."

"But why would he dye your hair?" Elrond wondered.

"Maybe it's because it was so similar to his own," the elleth suggested. "I think he didn't want there to be anything comparable between us, because he thought so lowly of me."

"So he took from you the very thing you were named for," the elf-lord muttered bitterly. "Isn't that just typical."

"It could be worse," Caranel shrugged. "He could have cut it off completely."

Elrond laughed. "It's so good to see your face again. For the longest time I thought Lady Elwing's sons and I were the only survivors of the attack… I was so worried about you!"

Caranel gasped, her expression switching abruptly from delight to horror. "Lady Elwing! Oh, sir, I have to tell you… but I can't say it… it was my fault! All my fault!" She buried her face in his tunic, shaking with sobs of grief.

Elrond patted her shoulder soothingly. "I know about Lady Elwing. It wasn't your fault."

"Y- yes, it was," Caranel wailed. "I tried to s- stop her, but I j- just couldn't… couldn't r- r- reach her in t- time… she's dead, and it's my fault!"

"No," Elrond replied. "She had made up her mind. There was nothing anyone could have done. It was her choice. Besides," he added, "there's still hope."

"Wh- what do you…?" Caranel looked up at him in a rather damp state of surprise.

"I mean," Elrond smiled, "that she survived."

"She's alive?" the elleth gasped. "But… how? Where is she?"

"She's in Valinor," the elf-lord answered. "Either that or flying with Eärendil."

Caranel stared at him. Elrond pointed calmly out the nearest window, saying, "See if you can find the brightest star."

The girl frowned up at the sky, replying, "I see it. Is that really Lord Eärendil?"

Elrond nodded. "Yes. He has been there for about a month now."

"And Lady Elwing is with him?"

"Perhaps… ow."

The elf-lord rubbed the back of his skull. Caranel frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache," Elrond replied nonchalantly. "It's nothing."

But it wasn't nothing, he knew. Something bad was coming. The elf turned to his friend, quickly changing the subject.

"Caranel," he said, "no-one must know of this. Everyone must think you're still a mute. I don't know how, I don't know when, but if anyone else finds out who you really are, then there will be trouble."

The elleth nodded, shutting her mouth tightly. Elrond nodded.

"Good. Now… Wenúbeth… we'd best both get to bed."

Caranel cringed at the sound of her old name, but complied in stoical silence.

----

_I wish I could see Mother again._

Elrond felt his eyes prickle familiarly as the thought slipped into his mind. He noticed he was nearing the twins' bedroom; the door was about six feet from where he stood. The elf approached the half-open door, and heard the soft voice of his younger self within:

"Starlight, star bright  
First star I see tonight  
I wish I may, wish I might  
Have the wish I wish tonight."

Elrond I poked his head cautiously into the room. Elrond II was standing in front of the window, his back to the door, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the black sky.

The child turned his head and spotted the elf-lord on the threshold. He gave a welcoming smile, and Elrond I strode into the room and to his own side.

"What are you doing?" he asked unnecessarily.

Elrond II turned back to the window, sighing quietly. "Wishing."

"For what?"

"I can't tell," the boy said firmly. "Then it won't come true."

"I see." Elrond I nodded. "May I join you?"

The boy nodded, and the elf-lord rested his elbows on the windowsill as he leant forward. "Let's see… what should I wish for?"

"You have to say the rhyme first," Elrond II reminded him.

Elrond I nodded. "Silly me. All right… starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…"

He finished the verse, and considered his wish. There were so many things he wanted, not only for himself. He wanted for Caranel to be free, and for no more innocent blood to be spilt. So many wishes, and he could only choose one…

"All right," he said at last. "I wish…"

The aspiration never passed his lips, but it sang a faint, hopeful song in his heart.

----

Elrond awoke the next morning with a grimace twisting his lips. His head was pounding. He promptly buried it under his pillow, just as a timid knock sounded on the door.

The elf-lord sat up slowly, still clutching his skull. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Caranel slipped softly inside, shutting the door behind her. A familiar frown of concern pulled at her lips.

"Headache," he explained, as she opened her mouth to speak.

The elleth nodded. "Is it bad? I could call the healers…"

"I'll live," Elrond replied, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Are you sure?" Caranel's eyebrow lifted.

"I'll be just fine," the elf-lord lied through his teeth, as his head gave an especially large and painful throb. "It's nothing you should worry about."

She glanced suspiciously at him, but nodded. "If you say so."

Moving to his bedside, Caranel gazed seriously at him. Her eyes never left his face when she spoke.

"I never really thanked you properly for what you've been doing for me," she said softly. "Helping me when Maedhros was hurting me, and bringing my memory back. You don't know how much it meant to me."

Elrond smiled, even though it worsened his headache. "It was nothing, really."

"It was _everything,_" she insisted, her eyes shining. "I only wish–"

But she broke off as a sharp knock sounded on the door, and an all-too-familiar voice met their ears. "Lord Elrond, are you there? I wonder whether I might have a word…"

Caranel blanched, instantly becoming Wenúbeth again and cowering behind her mask of muteness. She signaled urgently with her hands; Elrond caught the gist immediately.

"The wardrobe!" he hissed, shoving her toward it. "Don't make a sound!"

The door snapped shut, and Elrond locked it before calling, "Come in, please!"

The bedroom door creaked open, and the elf-lord spoke casually as he turned around.

"Of course I have time for a word, Maedh— _Maglor?_"

He stared in amazement at the figure on the threshold. The voice had certainly been that of Maedhros, but the elf who now stood before him was nearly the image of Maglor.

"You were correct the first time," Maedhros grumbled. "I wonder if I could speak to you about something."

"Go ahead," Elrond replied, forcing a calm smile. His palms were sweating profusely out of sheer dread, and his headache was rising to the point of being unbearable.

"Something wrong?" Maedhros asked sweetly.

"Just a headache," the half-elf gritted out. "I'm fine."

The son of Fëanor nodded. "I wanted to talk to you about last night. You used my soaps to wash your hair, and I was wondering whether or not you were… messing around with some of the bottles, say. Because when I washed my own hair this morning, I discovered that I had not been using soap, but black dye." He indicated his raven locks.

Elrond forced saliva into his dry mouth. "I assure you that I did not switch the contents of any bottles."

Maedhros nodded, smiling disarmingly. "Very well. Perhaps I merely misread the label, then. My handwriting is rather untidy, haha."

Elrond attempted a grin. "Haha."

Maedhros abruptly frowned. "Might I ask whom you were talking with before I came? There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the room, but I am sure I heard two voices here."

Elrond's mouth promptly dried out again. He was trapped.

"You must be mistaken," he replied quickly. "There was no-one here. Although I do have a rather strange tendency to talk to myself… haha…"

"Do you normally use male and female voices to discern separate thoughts?"

"W- well… that's, er…"

He was out of ideas. Maedhros' smirk was so wide that it threatened to split his face. The half-elf scoured his mind for some shred of a plan, but there was nothing.

"Something wrong?" Maedhros whispered.

Elrond desperately opened his mouth, fully prepared to shout the most random thing that came to his mind, but he was mercifully spared by a voice from afar.

"Maedhros! Could you spare a moment?"

Maedhros leaned closer to Elrond and hissed, "We'll continue this little chat later."

Elrond nodded, silently thanking the Valar as the other elf stalked away. Drawing a deep breath, the elf unlocked the wardrobe and let Caranel out.

"Thank you so much," the elleth whispered, emerging from behind his robes and tunics.

"Don't mention it," Elrond replied quietly. "If it hadn't been for Maglor, I never–"

"AHA!" screeched a triumphant voice.

Both elves whirled around, staring in horror at Maedhros, who was standing again in the doorway. An evil grin contorted his pale features as he stared straight at Caranel.

"I _knew_ it," he hissed, stepping forward. "I knew you were hiding something. You never spoke to me, but you will to him. _Why?_"

"Because _I_ don't treat her like something a dog rolled in!" Elrond snapped.

"You can't prove that!"

"Can't I?" Elrond cried. "You never even wanted to bring her here! You would have left her for dead, if it hadn't been for Maglor!"

"And I regret listening to him," Maedhros snarled. "That girl is worthless. Wasted space. I rue the day I met her! I see no reason why I shouldn't simply finish it now!"

His sword was out in an instant; he was walking forward as Caranel shrank back in terror. Elrond moved instinctively in front of her, gazing into Maedhros' eyes. They were wide, wild; he resembled a wolf spotting a wounded doe. He advanced slowly, hungrily…

Elrond tore his eyes from his enemy's face, staring desperately around him for a weapon. His sword was on the other side of the room, behind Maedhros. It was futile. But if it was necessary, Elrond would defend his friend with his life.

"Don't be a fool," Maedhros told him. "I only want the girl."

"You'll have to kill me first!" cried Elrond.

Maedhros nodded grimly. "Then so be it."


	21. A Fight and a Funeral

**Chapter Twenty: A Fight and a Funeral**

"If I am to fight you on fair terms," said Elrond slowly, "I would like to have some means of defending myself. My sword is behind you."

Maedhros grudgingly retrieved the weapon and tossed it to him; Elrond caught it swiftly by the hilt and unsheathed it. The keen blade glittered menacingly in the sunlight.

"So be it," he echoed his enemy. "Let's end this."

Maedhros nodded mutely, crossing blades with the half-elf. He shot a withering glare in Caranel's direction, causing the elleth to shrink back against the wall in helpless horror. Her wide blue eyes glistened with tears.

Maedhros made the first move, knocking Elrond's sword away and lunging for his chest. Elrond quickly blocked the blow, retaliating with a swipe to Maedhros' right shoulder. Bright red blood dripped from the gash and trickled down to the stump of his wrist.

The elf's lip curled into a snarl as he stared down at the wound. He lifted the sword in his only hand, charging again. Elrond sustained a deep gash in the cheek this time. Ignoring the pain of their wounds, both elves fought on.

Caranel stared desperately around her for some means of escape. If she could only get out of the room, she might be able to run for help. But Maedhros and Elrond were moving too swiftly to let her get to the doorway. They were fighting with a grim, single-minded determination.

Maedhros slowly forced Elrond to the wall, a terrible smile upon his face all the while. Elrond fought on, returning cut for cut, blood for blood. And suddenly he saw something his adversary did not.

Caranel saw her chance for freedom. Maedhros was forcing Elrond back to the wall, and leaving more than enough space behind him for her to slip through. The elf wasn't even looking around; it was a perfect opportunity. She leapt forward and ran…

Maedhros swung his sword in a great arc toward Elrond's throat; he was only able to duck just in time, cracking his head against the wall in the process. He fell back slightly, stars winking before his eyes as blood dripped down into his hair.

The sheer force of the blow caused the son of Fëanor to spin around in a half-circle, his dark eyes widening as he saw his blade sweep toward the fleeing elleth, slashing across her body…

Caranel screamed as she fell to the ground, blood pouring from the huge gash across her stomach. She stared up at Maedhros in anguish and horror, sobbing as she saw his face contort in a triumphant grin.

"Hah," he said breathlessly. "Well, there you are! It looks as if I kept my promise, didn't I?" He laughed cruelly as he spat in her face.

Elrond forced himself to stand upright and struggled to stay that way, slowly lifting his sword with a leaden-feeling hand. The metal pommel connected firmly with Maedhros' skull, knocking him unconscious. He slumped limply to the ground without so much as a moan.

Elrond staggered forward and fell to his knees beside Caranel, who was crying silently in agony. The half-elf gently cradled her in his arms, tears coming to his own eyes as she spoke.

"Sire," she choked out. "I'm sorry…"

"Shhh," he whispered tenderly, wiping the tears from her face with the edge of his sleeve. "It's all right, don't cry… you're going to be all right…"

"No," the elleth gasped. "It's over. There's nothing you can do."

Elrond grasped her hand gently. "Yes, I can. I can help you, heal you…"

"There's nothing you can do," Caranel repeated, her voice growing fainter. "I will pass to the Halls of Mandos, and there, perhaps, I will find rest."

Elrond nodded as he silently accepted her inevitable fate. "Then I hope you get there."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice the barest whisper. "Live free, my lord."

"Rest well, my friend," Elrond replied, kissing her forehead softly.

Caranel held him with her eyes, drawing a deep, slow breath. She held it for a moment, as though trying to hold on to her life for just a little longer. But soon a final sigh escaped her, and the light faded from her eyes.

Elrond knew she had let go at last. He let his tears fall freely onto her lifeless body as he gently closed her eyes. But a swirl of movement next to him drew his gaze; someone was standing behind him. Someone wearing a long black robe.

Mandos.

Trembling in grief, Elrond stared up at the Doomsman through tear-glazed eyes. Mandos looked strangely translucent, and the elf knew that he must be in the spirit world, or some such dimension. He knelt silently beside the limp form of Caranel, took her free hand and pulled her up…

The elleth's spirit, a pale, semi-transparent replica of Caranel herself, slowly sat up. She was seated inside her body, creating the effect of two torsos attached to a single pair of legs. One lay limply across Elrond's lap, the other was smiling up at Mandos.

The Doomsman helped Caranel's spirit to stand, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. It seemed as though they were talking, but Elrond couldn't hear any words spoken.

Mandos turned his head to look down at him, and smiled kindly. He glanced briefly back at Caranel, who turned and smiled at the half-elf as well. Her eyes were as bright as ever, and they retained a slight bluish tint. She held his gaze for a moment and sighed, "Thank you."

Elrond's eyes brimmed with new tears. "You're welcome," he replied.

She smiled, turning back to look up at Mandos. He put his arm gently around her as they both turned their backs, fading to complete invisibility. Her hand, still clasped tightly in Elrond's, was slowly growing cold. In that silent instant, Elrond knew that Caranel, his dear friend, was truly gone. She was at peace at last.

----

"Eärendil?" said a soft voice above him.

Only one person other than the unconscious Maedhros ever called him that.

"Hello, Maglor," Elrond said softly, looking up.

Maglor knelt silently at Elrond's side, placing a hand on Caranel's cold brow and bowing his head in sympathy.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "This should never have happened."

"It wasn't your fault," Elrond replied. "It was _his._" The elf shot a fleeting, contemptuous glare toward Maedhros. Maglor nodded.

"I never wanted this," he whispered. "I didn't want to steal those two Silmarils. I wanted to forsake the Oath completely. If I could turn back time and do things differently, I never would have…" He faltered, closing his eyes.

Then, slowly, he reached into his robe and pulled out a familiar cloth bundle. He opened it, and both elves' faces were bathed in the Silmarils' light.

"These aren't ours," he said quietly. "They were never ours. But I don't know what to do with them now. I don't want Maedhros to have them, and I can't give them away because they're not mine to give…"

"But you never wanted to take them."

"That's right," Maglor nodded. "I never wa—"

He broke off with a gasp, staring in the direction of the voice. It was not Elrond who had spoken, but the tall, dark figure who was behind the half-elf. The son of Fëanor hurriedly bowed as low as he could.

"Lord Mandos!"

The Vala nodded slowly. He was gazing at Maglor with an odd expression in his deep eyes, something between sympathy and kindness.

"Get up," he said softly.

Maglor slowly lifted his body, but remained on his knees. He stared up at the Doomsman in trepidation, but Mandos smiled benignly.

"You never desired your father's jewels," he said calmly, walking slowly around the two elves so that he stood at Maglor's side. "You were tempted to forsake your Oath, yet you were persuaded by Maedhros."

Maglor nodded, unsure of whether he should speak or not. Mandos went on coolly.

"If you had the choice at this moment," he said, "would you have me remove the burden I have lain upon you? Would you renounce your vows of evil and so be redeemed?"

"Would you will it so, my lord?" Maglor asked.

The Vala nodded. "I would."

"Then my answer is yes." Maglor's eyes held no uncertainty.

Mandos nodded once, placing a gentle hand on the elf's shoulder. "Then so be it."

Maglor stared up in surprise and awe. The Doomsman held his gaze for what seemed like a long time, his face calm. Maglor relaxed a little, giving a slight nod.

Then Mandos suddenly smiled, releasing his shoulder. "Go in peace."

Maglor bowed low again. "Thank you, my lord. I will not forget this."

The Doomsman's eyes glittered in a satisfied way, and he turned to Elrond, sending out a thought: _Sometime soon, you must tell him your true name._

Elrond nodded mutely, remembering that that was one of the many things about him that Maglor didn't know.

The Vala nodded once more, swirling away in a brief flicker of shadow.

Maglor moved to his unconscious brother's side, and Elrond climbed to his feet, carefully lifting Caranel's body with him.

"Take her outside," Maglor instructed, looking at him over his shoulder. "I'll be with you shortly."

Elrond nodded, turning slowly toward the door. But Maglor suddenly called after him.

"On second thought… don't taker her outside just yet. Take her to where you washed her hair. We should clean her up before we bury her."

----

Elrond bowed his head reverently as he folded Caranel's limp hands upon her chest. He stood back to gaze once more into her still face, before she was to be lain to rest.

Caranel's body lay on a white stone slab on the lawn outside Maedhros' house. She was clothed in a clean dress, the blood of battle gently cleansed from her cold body. Her hair had been masterfully restored to its former, fiery glory by the contents of a bottle Maglor had found, which was specifically for removing hair dye.

Maglor drew a slow breath and let it out silently, addressing Elrond. "Perhaps you could say a few words for her. You knew her more than I."

Elrond nodded, sighing as the words flowed to his tongue.

"When I first met Caranel, I had no idea what lay ahead for both of us. She was a humble servant to a noble lord and lady; I was a stranger from a distant land. We were brought together by chance, and held together by a strong bond of friendship. For four years we lived in the same household as comrades, but all of that changed one fateful night.

"A vision was sent to me, and I knew there would be darkness ahead of her. I sent her away, in hopes that I could thwart fate. I could not have been more wrong. In the months that I dwelt with the last sons of Fëanor, I never stopped thinking of her. No word had come to me of her whereabouts, but somehow I knew she was safe, somewhere.

"Then I met a young girl by the name of Wenúbeth, and was strangely drawn to her, even though I didn't know a thing about her. But something held us together. I knew there was something beneath those mousy locks that I had surely seen before. I found it at last, and we were reunited again, Caranel and I.

"But fate turned its back on her the very next morning. A cruel twist of fortune resulted in her untimely death; she accepted this fact before I did. Now she is under Lord Mandos' care. I know he will give her rest."

Tears were streaming down Elrond's face as he ended his speech. Maglor applauded him softly; the sound echoed sorrowfully through the air. The two elves stood in a respectful silence for a moment, and then each picked up a shovel to dig the elleth a grave.


	22. Choices and Consequence

**Chapter Twenty-One: Choices and Consequence**

Elrond sighed sadly as he picked at his dinner. He didn't want to be here. He just wanted to lock himself in his room and cry himself to sleep so he couldn't feel the pain. But that wasn't an option.

Everything reminded him of Caranel. Each time a servant approached him with a tray of food, his mind would make him see her carrying it, and his eyes would instantly moisten, without fail. His plate was moved away from him, still full, to make way for dessert.

Elrond nearly burst into tears when he caught sight of what was on the menu: fresh, warm honey-glazed muffins.

_Just like Caranel used to bake._

That was the last straw. Choking on the lump in his throat, he excused himself as quickly as he could, and fled to the safety of his bedroom.

----

Elrond collapsed onto his bed, shaking and sobbing. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to stem his tears, but almost at once a vision of his lost friend came rushing up to greet him. He pounded his fist against the mattress, silently screaming.

_Why? Why did it have to end like this? She should be alive… it's all Maedhros' fault! He killed her! What did she do to deserve that? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!_

"I am sorry," said a sad voice above him. "But this was not ordained by me."

Elrond lifted his teary face to look up at the Doomsman, who was gazing sympathetically down at him. The elf raised a hand to wipe his eyes, but Mandos grasped his wrist gently.

"What have I told you about mourning?" he asked tenderly.

"'Do not be ashamed to weep'," Elrond recited in a murmur, allowing the Vala to lower his hand. "'Not all tears are an evil'."

Mandos nodded slowly. "Precisely. But you need rest at the moment. There will be a time to take counsel with Fui."

Elrond recognized the phrase. Fui was another name for the Valië known as Nienna; she was the Lady of Mourning. To "take counsel with her" meant simply to grieve.

Mandos turned away slightly, calling mutely to Lórien. The Lord of Dreams soon swirled into view, a sad look in his pale blue eyes. He moved immediately to Elrond's bedside, as the elf turned onto his back.

"Lord Mandos?" he said abruptly, sitting up as a thought came to him.

"Yes?"

Elrond hesitated for only a moment. "When I tell Maglor what my real name is, do I have to tell him… everything?"

The Doomsman shook his head. "Your name alone will suffice. Simply tell him what you told your parents when you first met them."

Elrond nodded understandingly, lying down again. "All right."

Lórien placed his hand upon Elrond's brow as he had done many times before, sweeping the half-elf into a semi-conscious dream…

_A pale ledge above a churning sea. Five fingers clinging tightly to stone, pried away with a gentle song. Lórien's lullaby._

_Then came the sweet release, and a long drop into deep sleep._

----

Maglor sighed as he adjusted the bandages that swathed Maedhros' head. His brother was badly hurt; it was uncertain when he would wake, or even _if _he would wake. The wound Elrond had inflicted was deep. Very deep.

He shivered slightly as a sudden thought came to him. What if Maedhros never awoke? What if he just lay there, trapped in a coma, for the rest of what could barely be called his life?

He sighed again, turning his gaze to a small package that lay on a table nearby. He had looked it over so many times that he'd memorized every fold and tear, every loose thread and faded patch. Gently, carefully, he picked it up.

The bundle felt unusually heavy in his hands. Shuddering, Maglor remembered the words that had been spoken to him by Mandos; strange, riddling phrases thick with mysterious foreknowledge.

The elf cast one last, long look at his brother's still face before striding quickly from the room. There was something he had to do.

----

Maglor advanced softly down the hallway toward where he knew Elrond's bedroom was. The Silmarils were tucked under his arm, their alluring splendor hidden from any prying eyes.

When he reached the right room, he found that the door was shut and locked; no sound came from within. He raised a tentative hand, and knocked thrice.

Inside the chamber, Mandos looked up and sighed. "I will handle this."

He flicked his finger calmly at the latch, which clicked and unlocked just as Maglor's soft voice reached his ears.

"Lord Eärendil? I hope I'm not disturbing anything…"

"Come in, Maglor," Mandos replied. "But be quiet."

The door creaked as it opened, and the son of Fëanor slipped softly inside, bowing hastily as he spotted who had spoken to him.

"Lord Mandos… I wasn't expecting…"

"But I was," said the Doomsman. "Put them on the desk."

Maglor knew exactly what was expected. He carefully placed the tight-wrapped Silmarils on the aforementioned table, bowing again. "I'm sorry to interfere."

Mandos shrugged dismissively. "No matter. You may go."

"Yes, sire."

----

Elrond awoke to find that Mandos and Lórien were nowhere to be seen. It had become a familiar sight. But something was strange to him; something was different. He rose to his feet, frowning as he realized what it was.

The Silmarils lay on his desk, innocently hiding in their worn cloth wrappings. The half-elf picked them up warily, wondering how and when they had got there. He stowed them in his robe, and looked up as footsteps approached.

"Eärendil?" a voice called from the other side of the door.

Elrond opened the door, seeing the younger son of Fëanor apprehensively approaching him. The half-elf strode briskly forward, holding out the clothbound Silmarils.

"Do you know anything about these?"

Maglor nodded. "I put them in your room while you were asleep. Lord Mandos said that it was the right thing to do."

"Are you sure about this?" Elrond asked. "Giving them to me, I mean."

Maglor nodded. "Yes. Lord Mandos told me to give them to you; he said you would need them."

Elrond considered this for a moment. What could he possibly do with two Silmarils? But maybe it was better not to question circumstance. He stowed the bundle in his robe and spoke calmly to his companion.

"There's something you need to know. My name is not Eärendil, it's Elrond; Elrond the First, to be exact. Eärendil's elder son, my godson, is Elrond the Second."

Maglor looked surprised, then confused. "I always wondered why the twins never called you Ada, but I thought that it might be unwise to mention it. I've only been calling you Eärendil out of habit," he said. "I wondered when you would reveal your true identity."

"Well, now I have," Elrond smiled. Then a frown tugged at his lips. "How is Maedhros?"

Maglor sighed heavily. "You dealt him a severe blow, Elrond. I don't know if he'll wake up… ever."

Elrond bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't want…"

"Yes, you did," said Maglor quietly. "You wanted to hurt him. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted him to feel some tiny part of what he had made Caranel feel."

"I don't want that now!" Elrond cried. "I'm not like your brother, Maglor. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"They all say that," Maglor told him icily. "Once everything is said and done, and there's no turning back, that's what they all say."

"But we can still help him," Elrond said, his voice imperative. "I'm a healer. I can tend to him. I'll do all I can."

"Will you?" Maglor asked softly. "Even after what he did?"

Elrond didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Even though you know the consequences may be against you?"

"Yes." A bit slower this time, but still adamant.

"Then follow me."

----

Elrond carefully placed a hand on Maedhros' bandage-covered head, allowing a rush of healing energy to escape him and flow to the other elf's body. Maglor hovered anxiously nearby, chewing on his lower lip as he watched.

Maedhros never moved as Elrond continued to pour out his healing power. His chest rose and fell in rhythm, but that was all. Not even a moan escaped his lips.

"Will he be all right?" Maglor asked, after a few minutes of almost total silence.

"Shhh," Elrond replied without looking up. "I need to concentrate."

Maglor fell silent again, his eyes moistening as he went back to nibbling his lip. Elrond glanced sympathetically over at him.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "But these things take time."

Maglor nodded mutely, but frowned as a voice whispered in his head.

_When he wakes, Maedhros will not be as he was before. Both of you will be in danger if you linger long. Get out while you still have the chance._

It was the voice of Mandos. Maglor knew better than to ignore him.

"Elrond…" he began hesitantly.

"Shhh!"

"This is important!"

"What?" Elrond frowned at him.

"Lord Mandos has just spoken to me," the son of Fëanor replied. "We can't stay here."

"Do you want me to heal Maedhros or not?"

"Well…" Maglor hesitated. "Lord Mandos just told me that once he wakes up, Maedhros won't be like he was before. He said to tell you that we need to get out of here while we can."

Elrond opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Maedhros gave a groan and began to stir, twitching fitfully. Maglor stared down at him, then up at Elrond in trepidation.

"He's coming to… we can't stay here!"

But Elrond didn't move. He stood frozen, his eyes fixed upon the squirming elf in the bed before him. Maglor tugged at his arm, crying, "Are you deaf? We have to get out!"

"Wait," Elrond whispered. "Just one more minute."

_No! Flee for your lives!_

"We have to leave!" Maglor insisted yet again.

A horrible noise issued from Maedhros' throat as he writhed beneath the bedclothes. His eyes flew open, wide and unseeing; his hand scraped at the air, fingers gnarled like claws. Reaching for Elrond.


	23. The Kinslayer and the King

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Kinslayer and the King**

Elrond leapt backward from Maedhros' groping hand, cringing at the elf's terrible moans. There was nothing but rage in his dark eyes.

"Run!" yelled Maglor. "Get out of here!"

Elrond needed no further bidding. Ducking away from the furious, semi-conscious son of Fëanor, he bolted from the room like a startled deer. Maglor sprinted at his side, stopping only to lock and bar the door. They skidded to a halt at the other end of the hall.

"Don't even _think_ of saying 'I told you so'," Elrond panted, leaning against the wall as he recovered his breath.

"I wasn't planning to," Maglor replied. "But now that you mention it, I–"

"Quiet!" Elrond hissed suddenly.

Maglor held his breath, and Elrond listened in horror. Heavy blows sounded from behind the door to the infirmary, accompanied by a slight creak of wood.

"Can he get out?" Elrond asked. "Would he be able to break down the door?"

"Normally, I doubt it," Maglor answered, a tremor in his voice. "But at the moment, I'm starting to think the opposite…"

As if to confirm the statement, the creaking noises grew steadily louder as the thudding continued. The two elves weighed their options carefully.

"We have two choices," said Maglor. "We could run for our lives, or try to fight him."

"Let me see," Elrond murmured. "On the one hand, if we flee… uncertain death. On the other, if we fight… uncertain death." He gazed hopelessly at his comrade. "It appears that we're trapped between a rock and a hard place, does it not?"

"Indeed." Maglor shook his head, sighing. "So what do we do? Fight or flee?"

"What _can _we do? It makes no difference either way; the outcome appears the same from any angle you choose."

"Well, we should really decide now!" cried Maglor. "We never know when–"

He was cut off by a huge crash, and the sound of many wooden splinters hitting the floor. The livid figure of Maedhros stood amidst the wreckage of the infirmary door, his clawed hand still grazing the air. He took a step forward, then another…

"When _that_ will happen," Maglor finished weakly.

"Run?" Elrond suggested.

They hurtled down another corridor, with Maedhros' terrible groans following them. All of the doors on ether side were closed and locked, except one.

"Get inside!" Elrond gasped. "Hurry!"

The pair skidded through the door, which Elrond shut and bolted.

"That should hold him for a little while at least," he panted.

"This is your room, isn't it?" Maglor asked.

Elrond nodded, moving over to where a sword lay on a small table next to the wardrobe. He indicated that Maglor should take the weapon, opening the closet and taking a darkly shimmering cloak down from its peg, and fastening it about his shoulders.

"What about you?" Maglor inquired, seeing that the half-elf had no sword.

"I have knives," Elrond answered, now hunting for them.

"You really think those will hold him back?" Maglor asked, as Elrond pulled the daggers out of a cupboard. "And why did you choose that cloak in particular? I can see you have others. Also, why wear a cloak to battle in the first place?"

"Never mind that," Elrond replied, now tucking the weapons into his belt. "Just be ready for his arrival."

_Boom. _

The bedroom's door shuddered visibly beneath a heavy blow from the other side. Maglor hurriedly unsheathed his borrowed sword, glancing at his comrade in trepidation.

"Right on time," Elrond muttered, clutching a knife in each hand.

_Boom._

"Stand your ground…" the half-elf murmured.

_CRASH!_

The two elves flung up their arms to block the barrage of large, wooden fragments that came flying at their faces. They had no time to react further before Maedhros was upon them.

Elrond was flat on his back before he realized what had just happened. Maedhros was pressing his only hand forcibly down onto the elf's throat, but thanks to his cloak, Elrond was unharmed. He gazed up into his enemy's eyes, and met a stare of purest loathing and fury. It was like staring into the face of an enraged wolf, in more ways than one. Saliva dripped from Maedhros' mouth as he grinned in evil triumph. Elrond averted his head as well as he could from the elf's hot, horrible breath.

There was a yell from somewhere above him, and a dark figure slammed into Maedhros, sending them both to the floor. Elrond scrambled quickly to his feet, snatching up one of the knives that had flown from his hand when he had fallen.

Maglor wrestled madly with Maedhros, using every ounce of his strength. The brothers fought tooth and nail, the sweat of exertion mingling with blood from their wounds. They rolled and thrashed about on the floor, toppling desks and chairs.

Maedhros suddenly pinned Maglor to the ground as he had Elrond. Fëanor's younger son raised his sword, but it was knocked away by Maedhros' handless right arm. Elrond leapt forward, repeating what Maglor had done for him. The dagger in his hand met Maedhros' left wrist, slicing through flesh and striking bone.

Maedhros let out an animal-like yell of pain as blood poured thick and fast from the gash. Elrond sawed hard with his blade, refusing to stop until the entire hand was severed. It fell to the ground and lay unheeded as Maedhros reared up, preparing for another assault.

"He won't be quick to forgive you for that!" Maglor panted as Elrond helped him upright.

"And there are a great many things I've never forgiven him for," Elrond replied bitterly. "It evens out."

Maedhros ignored the blood streaming from his wrist, baring his teeth in a wolflike snarl. Giving voice to another inhuman howl, he lunged for Elrond's throat yet again. His jaws closed on the elf's torso as he twisted his body away.

Elrond felt his robe ripping across the front as his attacker seized it tightly with his teeth, his only remaining weapon. The half-elf's chest and shoulder were mercifully unscathed; he could use his arm to its fullest advantage.

He seized his chance immediately, raising his fist and punching Maedhros squarely in the jaw. He heard bones cracking as the elf fell back, unconscious.

"Let's go!" he yelled to Maglor.

The son of Fëanor helped Elrond to his feet, and they fled as fast as their legs would carry them. But they had only gone a short way when Maglor crumpled, his right leg folding up beneath him.

"What is it?" Elrond cried in concern.

"I think my leg's broken," Maglor gasped. "I can't go on. Just leave me to die."

"Nonsense," Elrond replied. "I'm a healer; I'm not just going to let you die. Besides, I've just bought us some time. Maedhros won't wake up for a while."

"Isn't that what got us into this mess in the first place?" Maglor panted, as Elrond bent to examine his leg. "You knocking him out?"

Elrond chose to ignore that fact, carefully moving his fingers along the elf's shin from the ankle upward. He stopped when Maglor yelled in anguish; he had obviously touched the break.

"Hold still," the half-elf ordered. "I need to set your leg back into place. This is going to hurt. Find something to bite down on."

Maglor hurriedly wadded up a handkerchief he tugged from his pocket, and shoved it into his mouth. He gave a muffled noise to indicate that Elrond was to begin.

Elrond pulled the two ends of the broken limb apart as gently as he could, cringing at his friend's strangled howls. He carefully moved the bone to its correct position, then began to heal it. Maglor's screams gradually faded to faint sobs, and then to silence.

"There you are," the half-elf spoke up after a few silent minutes, gently lifting his hands from the mended limb. "You'll be much stronger in that leg from now on. Bone is one of the hardest things to break even once, and even more difficult to break twice."

"Th- thank you," Maglor replied, pulling the saliva-coated handkerchief from his mouth.

"Anytime," Elrond replied, smiling briefly. "Now come on!"

They hurried onward, out to the very back of the house. There Elrond threw caution to the winds, and reached into his robe for the Silmarils. They were still there.

"What do we do now?" Maglor asked fretfully. "Maedhros will surely wake up sooner or later, so much the worse for us."

"Not if we're not here when he comes to," Elrond replied.

"You mean we should just leave? People will wonder!"

"We'll leave in secret," Elrond replied. "We'll take them with us." He pointed toward his breast pocket, where the Silmarils hid.

Maglor nodded, but looked up abruptly as a thought struck him. "What of your godsons? You can't leave them behind!"

"They're coming with us," Elrond confirmed. He knew very well what the consequences would be if they didn't.

Maglor nodded. "I'll pack the supplies; you get the children. Meet me in the stables."

----

Elrond rushed to the stables ten minutes later, with two confused elflings in tow. Maglor was already there, with two horses saddled and ready.

"We can each take one of the children," he told Elrond.

The half-elf nodded, helping his young self up onto a dappled grey stallion while Maglor and Elros mounted a palomino.

"Let's go," Elrond I whispered.

They left the stables in almost total silence, and rode swiftly east and away.

----

The sun was setting when Maglor called a halt at the foot of a high mountain range. The first stars were twinkling in the deep indigo sky, and the air was still and warm. The elves laid out bedrolls and blankets; there was no need for a fire. Elrond II and Elros fell asleep almost as soon as they lay down, side-by-side. Elrond I and Maglor kept watch.

The son of Fëanor frowned at the half-elf, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, eyes staring into space.

"A copper coin for your thoughts," he murmured.

Elrond glanced at his comrade, replying, "Have them for free. I was thinking of the day we met."

"Ah, yes," Maglor sighed reminiscently. "Happy times, I think not."

Elrond nodded. "Lord Mandos spoke to me a long time ago. He said that you and one of your brothers would be friend and foe to me."

"Oh?" Maglor raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," the half-elf sighed. "He warned me to 'beware the one with hair of flame', and he also said that Gold-cleaver would be my ally."

Maglor stared at him. "_My_ name is Gold-cleaver!"

"Is it?" Elrond smiled. "Well, that worked out nicely."

They sat in a calm silence for a few long minutes, until a strange sound met their ears. It was a male voice, singing quietly in Elvish; the sound drifted down to them from above, somewhere in the mountains.

Elrond frowned as his heart sped up a little. He knew that voice…

"Wait here," he whispered to Maglor. "I'll go and investigate."

He crept warily forward, seeing a narrow path leading up the nearest incline. The rise was high and a bit steep, but his natural elven grace made progress easy. The familiar voice grew gradually louder as he advanced, though he could see no-one nearby.

A lone figure slipped softly into his line of sight. Whoever it was, was hidden by a cloak of shadows. He was softly singing; it was the owner of the voice Elrond was following.

"Who's there?" the half-elf called out softly.

The figure stopped singing and leapt forth, and was illuminated by starlight. His dark hair hung in braids by his pointed ears, and his pale grey eyes glittered like the fine circlet he wore upon his head. A cloak of midnight black fell to his ankles, held in place by a silver clasp. His very countenance spoke of power. Elrond bowed instinctively.

"Who are _you?_" the figure asked imperiously.

"I am named Elrond the First, formerly of Sirion," Elrond replied carefully. "I mean you no harm, my lord."

The other elf's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Sirion? That haven was destroyed."

"I know," said Elrond, not getting up. "I am one of only a few to survive the attack."

The imposing elf nodded again, relaxing. "I see. What brings you here?"

"I am on a pilgrimage, sire," Elrond answered. "I was hoping to reach Lindon, and–"

"Say no more," the other elf interrupted, smiling calmly. "I am the ruler of the realm that you seek. I am Gil-galad Ereinion, High King of the Noldor."


	24. New Beginnings, Old Friends

**Chapter Twenty-Three: New Beginnings, Old Friends**

"It is indeed an honor, my lord," Elrond replied, bowing even lower.

Gil-galad laughed. "Please stand up, sir. It would be easier to speak to each other face-to-face, would it not?"

Elrond smiled as he rose. "An excellent point, my lord."

"Now, what is it you desire?" the other elf inquired pleasantly. "Are you in need of food or shelter?"

"Neither, sire," Elrond replied politely. "My companions and I merely heard you singing, and I came to investigate. I did not mean to intrude upon you. Please accept my humble apologies."

"You are forgiven," the King told him brightly. "Where and whom are your comrades? I would like to meet them."

"Then I shall indeed introduce you to them," Elrond nodded. "But I believe at least two of them are currently asleep, or they were when I left."

Gil-galad chuckled again. "Then you need not disturb them."

Elrond nodded, beckoning the King forward. "Please come this way, sire."

----

Maglor looked up at a faint noise from above, then rose to his feet as two figures came down the hillside toward him. Elrond was in the lead; the elf behind him was unfamiliar, but radiated authority. The son of Fëanor bowed low as he approached.

Elrond smiled. "May I introduce Maglor, son of Fëanor, my good friend and comrade."

Gil-galad nodded politely, but Elrond saw his gaze linger for a moment on the Fëanorian star emblazoned on Maglor's chest. The elf squirmed uneasily under this scrutiny; Elrond deliberately moved between them.

"It isn't what it looks like," he said hurriedly, bowing low as he addressed the King. "No doubt you have heard of his reputation, and it is imperative that you know this; Maglor has renounced his Oath as a Kinslayer. He is reformed and redeemed."

"Redeemed by whom?" Gil-galad frowned, his eyebrows knitting.

"By the very person who first cursed him," Elrond replied.

The King nodded. "Did you witness this?"

"I did, sire. I was at Maglor's side when Lord Mandos gave the verdict."

"When did this happen?"

Elrond drew a breath, refusing to show his emotions as memories poured relentlessly into his head. "This morning."

Gil-galad nodded again, looking concerned. "You seem troubled. Is there something I can do for you?"

Elrond sighed and shook his head as a single rebellious tear led a silent revolution down his face. "I am afraid only Lord Manwë has the power to awaken the dead."

The King bowed his head. "I am sorry."

Elrond nodded, drying his tears with a sleeve. Gil-galad gave him a compassionate glance before turning his gaze to the twins, who were still peacefully asleep.

Elrond noticed the direction of his stare and informed him softly, "These are my godsons, sire. Elrond the Second and Elros."

Gil-galad smiled. "They look strangely like you. I would have thought that you were their father, had you not told me otherwise."

"Sheer coincidence," the half-elf replied casually. "They are the children of Eärendil and Elwing; I have been caring for them for several months now, with Maglor's help."

The King nodded, glancing at Maglor once more. This time, however, his dark blue eyes held a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.

"And what has become of your brother, Maedhros?" he asked the son of Fëanor.

Maglor's throat constricted instantly and painfully, and he answered the King with great difficulty.

"I am sorry to say that he was badly wounded, sire. Elrond and I tended to him as well as we could, but fate was not in his favor."

It was only a slight lie. Maglor didn't know what he was feeling at all. Could the creature who had mercilessly slaughtered an innocent elleth, who had nearly murdered him, ever be honestly pitied? Dare he even acknowledge him as brother, after seeing him in such an enraged, cold-blooded state? He had seemed more animal than elf…

But Gil-galad's voice mercifully rescued him from the black mists of fear and doubt.

"If it is Lindon you are seeking, then you need only cross the mountains. You four were fortunate enough to arrive just south of the pass. I can guide you, if you wish; I could lead you to my city."

"Thank you, sire," Elrond replied gratefully. "I'd consider it a privilege to be escorted by you."

The King nodded, smiling. "Excellent. Would you prefer to leave now, or at dawn?"

Elrond glanced down at the sleeping twins before replying, "Perhaps it would be good to allow the children a good night's rest."

"Very well," Gil-galad nodded, turning to leave. "I shall return for you at sunrise."

----

Morning could never have come fast enough. Elrond was awake before dawn; he wanted to be ready as soon as possible. His sleep had been riddled with dreams and memories of Lindon, and everything he had heard and seen there in his past life. But something told him that was all going to change.

Now Elrond leapt up as the figure of Gil-galad appeared at the top of the same hill he had found him on the night before. The King was lit up by the breaking day, his skin seeming to glow in the sun's first rays.

As he descended and approached, Elrond couldn't help but notice how young Gil-galad really was; he looked barely of age, though he was tall and well-built. His long hair was revealed to be a deep chocolate brown, much like Elwing's had been.

Elrond struggled to hold back tears at the memory of his mother, bending down to rouse Maglor. The son of Fëanor soon became alert, and helped his friend in waking the twins while Elrond packed up and saddled their horses.

Once elves and steeds were all ready, they followed the King through the mountain pass. To a new land, and a new life's promise.

----

The journey took slightly longer than Elrond expected, but after a few days the friends came to a splendid city of white stone, reminiscent of Cirdan's home on the Isle of Balar. The half-elf gazed around him in awe as they entered.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Gil-galad smiled. "Cirdan and I built it."

"You know Lord Cirdan?" Elrond exclaimed.

"Oh, yes," the King nodded. "Was he a friend?"

"Indeed he was! I worked on _Vingilot_ with he and Eärendil."

"You helped to build Eärendil's silver ship? You must be joking!" cried Gil-galad.

"I assure you, my lord, I'm telling the absolute truth. But I only helped a small amount," said Elrond humbly. "My part was a minor one."

"But anyone would be honored to claim they had a hand in it," the King told him. "Don't be so modest!"

"I was only being honest," Elrond insisted.

Elves gathered all around them to get a glimpse of the new arrivals. They were all talking and whispering excitedly, and those nearest the King bowed low as he approached. He had obviously won the utmost respect of his people, Elrond thought.

He smiled as he met the gaze of a tall elf a fair distance from them, whose eyes sparkled in the sunlight; they were an unusual bright turquoise. There was something very familiar about them…

Gil-galad smiled brightly as he spoke to his comrade. "If you're looking at the elf I think you're looking at, then he is an old friend of yours."

The elf in question came forward as he bowed to the King, and Elrond saw his long hair and tidy beard, both of silvery hue. There could be no mistaking the shipwright.

"_Mae govannen,_ Lord Cirdan," (Well met) the half-elf couldn't resist calling out.

Cirdan's fair face lit up in a smile, and he nodded in respect, but the small group was past him before he had a chance to speak. Elrond glanced back over his shoulder at him as he was lost to sight.

After taking their horses to the stables, Elrond, Maglor and the twins followed Gil-galad to his throne room. His servants brought in chairs for the guests, and the King sat down in his customary seat.

"Welcome to Mithlond!" he said cheerfully. "I hope that all of you enjoy your time here; you are more than welcome to remain as long as you wish. I will gladly prepare lodgings for the four of you…" (_You mean the **three** of us,_ Elrond thought) "…and have clothing made for you as well."

"Thank you, my lord," replied Maglor. "I believe I speak for all of us when I say that this is an honor and a privilege."

Gil-galad beamed. "Thank you, Lord Maglor! It is I who am honored to have such guests as you. There are many things about you all that I do not yet know… but I shall leave that up to you to reveal, if you should wish it. I will not intrude."

And speaking of intrusions, there came a soft knock on the chamber door.

"Come in!" the King called, rising smoothly from his throne; the others followed his lead. "Ah, Lord Cirdan! Good to see you!"

"Good afternoon, sire," the silver-haired elf replied, bowing low as he entered the room. "I hope I am not interrupting…?"

"Not at all, not at all," Gil-galad smiled. "Please, sit down… Cúron, bring another chair, won't you…"

A dark-haired ellon leapt up to do the King's bidding, bowing to everyone assembled and darting from the room like a shadow. He returned a minute later with the requested chair, bowed again, and departed.

Cirdan took his seat, nodding respectfully to Elrond and Maglor as he did. They returned the gesture, and Gil-galad addressed the latest guest.

"What is it you were wanting, Cirdan? Don't hesitate to speak, please."

The shipwright nodded obediently. "I'm here to tell you that Queen Eithelien requests a meeting with you in her chambers, but if you're busy…"

"I was just speaking to our guests, actually," the King told him. "Does she have anything in particular to discuss, or is it a casual affair?"

"She seemed quite calm when I spoke to her," the shipwright replied. "You needn't hurry too much."

Gil-galad nodded, rising and striding toward the door. "I'll see you later, then."

Cirdan turned to Elrond once the King left the room, nodding his head courteously as he spoke.

"Have I been hearing correctly? Are you the same elf who accompanied Lord Eärendil to my home, and helped us to build _Vingilot_?"

Elrond smiled, extending a hand. "I am indeed. It is a great pleasure to meet you again."

"A very great pleasure," the shipwright agreed, grasping Elrond's hand in a firm grip and shaking it heartily. "It has been a while."

Elrond nodded. "It sometimes feels that way. But two and a half years, by our standards, can also seem rather short."

Cirdan sighed. "Time is a fickle thing; it moves at an unpredictable pace. Swift or slow, it seems to be mostly inconvenient. Especially since we have so much of it at our disposal."

Elrond nodded wordlessly. He had rarely considered that. He glanced discreetly down at his younger self, sighing without a sound. He had such a long life ahead of him, and yet he had already seen so much darkness and danger…

But it couldn't be helped. What was done, was done.

Cirdan noticed the elf looking away, however briefly and secretly he had tried to do it. He followed Elrond's line of sight, and smiled as he met the curious gaze of Elrond II.

"Why, hello," the shipwright smiled benignly. "Who might you be, little one?"

"Elrond the Sec'nd," said the child in a small voice. Then, remembering his manners, he asked, "How do you do, sir?"

"I do very well, thank you," Cirdan replied warmly. "I can tell you've been well brought up."

"Thank you," said Elrond II, smiling and blushing a little. Cirdan smiled as well, looking down at Elros and exchanging similar courtesies.

The shipwright then turned to Maglor, who had not spoken for a while. The son of Fëanor shifted slightly under Cirdan's gaze, but held his head high.

Elrond I soon spotted them, and rushed to break the thickening quiet.

"Lord Cirdan," he smiled, "this is my good friend Maglor, son of Fëanor. Maglor, this is Lord Cirdan, formerly of Balar."

The elves traded greetings, both looking distinctly uneasy. Elrond sighed silently, hoping that someday Maglor would be accepted for who he was now, not who he had once been. Apparently his former infamy still smothered the truth of his redemption. But the half-elf still prayed for the best.


	25. Webs of Mystery

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Webs of Mystery**

The news that a Kinslayer was staying in Mithlond spread through the place like wildfire. Elrond tried his best to douse the blaze of scorn and superstition – he knew what it felt like to be the target of such violent verbal abuse – but the stubborn flames refused to die.

Maglor had become a rigid recluse, shutting himself in his bedchamber for hours on end and refusing to come out, even at mealtimes. Although Gil-galad's servants left plates of food outside his door, Maglor left them there to grow cold.

"I fear for Lord Maglor," said Gil-galad to the half-elf one day. "He hasn't eaten in nearly four days."

"I've never met a more stubborn elf," Elrond agreed. "Except for his brother, Maedhros."

"Perhaps you should speak with him," the King suggested. "Take his breakfast to him. With any luck, he will listen to you; you are friends, after all."

Elrond complied readily, and was soon carrying a tray laden with fruit and toast down to his comrade's bedroom.

"Maglor?" he called out, reaching the right door.

"Go away."

The voice from within the room was cold and harsh. Elrond flinched as it met his ears, but did not retreat.

"It's Elrond," he said gently. "May I come in? You haven't eaten a thing for several days now, and I'm starting to worry about you. We all are."

"Who is 'we all'?" Maglor challenged from behind the door. "Everyone in this city thinks I'm a murderer. But I'm not!"

"I believe you," Elrond told him caringly.

Maglor snorted in contempt. "Of course you do."

"And I'm not the only one who does, believe me," the half-elf went on insistently. "King Gil-galad and Lord Cirdan are on your side as well." The shipwright had at last accepted the former Kinslayer's redemption the day before.

There was a long hiatus before Maglor spoke again. "You wouldn't happen to have some breakfast with you, would you?"

"That's partly why I came," Elrond replied. "May I come in?"

Elrond heard a gloomy sigh, a pause, and then a faint creak as Maglor slowly opened the bedroom door. The half-elf gasped in shock.

Maglor stared silently at his friend through dull, bloodshot eyes. His hair hung in greasy strings about his blotchy face, which looked stained by countless tears. Elrond gave a sob of disbelief.

"What have you done to yourself?" he cried.

Maglor said nothing, but beckoned Elrond inside with a forefinger. The half-elf carefully set the plate of food down on his friend's bedside table, gazing at him in mute horror. The son of Fëanor wouldn't meet his gaze; Elrond had to forcibly turn his face toward him and hold it there.

"Tell me, Maglor," he said gently but firmly, "why did you do this to yourself? Starving yourself, refusing to speak with your friends–"

"_What_ friends?" Maglor snarled, pulling Elrond's hands from his face and turning away. "Name three people who _don't_ think I'm a mad killer."

Elrond was shocked. "Me, for one! King Gil-galad and Lord Cirdan as well."

Maglor sniffed, apparently dissatisfied. But Elrond saw his comrade's countenance soften a little. He placed a gentle, brotherly hand upon the elf's shoulder.

Maglor turned to look at him, and Elrond smiled encouragingly, nodding toward the plate of food near his elbow. The son of Fëanor reluctantly chose a slice of apple, nibbling at it morosely.

"I know how you feel, Maglor," said Elrond sympathetically. "I've endured many of the same things that you're handling right now."

Maglor frowned at him, his mouth full. Elrond took that as a sign to continue.

"When I arrived in Sirion," he went on reflectively, "I came in the company of the Lords Mandos and Lórien. I quickly earned a good name by helping to deliver Lady Elwing's sons, but my reputation was tarnished when someone came up with the idea that I was a herald of doom, simply because Lord Mandos was one of my companions.

"That same elf started a riot one morning, during which I faced many untrue accusations. I admit, I did keep away from the general population of the haven for a few hours, but not for four days."

"And your point is?" Maglor said icily.

"My point," Elrond continued, "is that locking yourself away from the world isn't going to solve your problems. You'll need to face them sooner or later. Stand up for yourself if what you really want is to be known as a free elf, one who has crossed over the threshold of darkness and emerged on the other side in the light of redemption."

He stopped to take a breath, and met Maglor's mute stare. Maybe he had overworked his scheme a bit.

The son of Fëanor nodded slowly, murmuring, "You're absolutely right. I can't hide from this anymore. _I'm_ the one who has to prove I'm not a murderer. Maybe they'll believe me if they hear it from my mouth."

Elrond smiled. "Good for you."

----

The day seemed a little bit brighter after that. Maglor finally emerged from his bedroom after breakfast, much to the approval of Gil-galad. The King greeted him with an obvious air of relief.

"I was worried about you," he smiled, upon noticing that Fëanor's son was again walking among the rest of the elves. "I'm glad Master Elrond was finally able to convince you to come out."

"So am I," Maglor replied. "I think it's time for me to show your people who I truly am – a friend to my own kind, and not a Kinslayer. I am no longer burdened by Lord Mandos' curse. But the question remains: will these people accept me? I had a terrible reputation as a notorious murderer up until a week ago. That fact will be difficult to dismiss."

The King frowned thoughtfully. "We will see."

Maglor nodded mutely. Gil-galad placed a kindly hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure everything will be fine," he said reassuringly. "Once the elves hear from your mouth that you are not the elf they thought you were, things will change for the better."

The son of Fëanor nodded again. "I hope so."

----

Soon afterward, another string of gossip unwound: Maglor, son of Fëanor was redeemed by the very Vala who had cursed him in the first place. The blood of the innocent, which had once stained his hands, was now only a memory.

Maglor walked the halls of Mithlond much more self-confidently now. The elves were far more civil to him now that they knew he was no longer a killer of his own people.

"Things are turning out exactly as you said they would!" he related elatedly to Gil-galad. "You must have the gift of Foresight!"

The King shook his head, laughing. "No, I am afraid do not. I merely gave you the best-case scenario. You are the one who twisted the odds to your favor. And you should thank Master Elrond for getting you out of your room in the first place. He had a part in this as well."

"Yes, sire. Rest assured, I will!"

Things seemed to go steadily uphill after that, until the night Maglor's heart was broken.

----

The servant said it was from an unspecified source. A simple scroll of parchment, sealed inexpertly with wax. Nothing very elaborate, and yet it made Maglor's heart beat a frantic drumroll against his ribs. He opened it secretly in his bedroom, watched by no-one save Elrond, his most trusted friend.

"Open it," the half-elf urged him. "It will be worse if you put it off any longer."

Maglor carefully broke the seal and unrolled the letter with a visibly trembling hand. An untidy scrawl across the page read:

_Lord Maglor:_

_Your brother has died. He was found in Master Elrond's bedchamber, with his only remaining hand severed from his wrist and several wounds on his body, particularly the back of his head. We can only say that he bled to death. _

The signature was blurred to complete illegibility by Maglor's tears. The scroll slid softly through his fingers as he fell to his knees on the floor, sobbing. Elrond bowed his head in sorrow, stung by a massive jolt of guilt.

_You did it, _a nasty voice hissed somewhere in his head. _You cut off his hand, you knocked him out. You let him bleed to death. **You killed him**._

Elrond could say nothing to deny it.

----

"I did it," Elrond muttered to his friend, as he and Maglor sat side-by-side at breakfast the following morning. "It's all my fault."

"No, it wasn't," Maglor insisted. "You didn't mean to kill him."

"But it happened anyway," the half-elf muttered. "He died at my hands. I'm a murderer. A Kinslayer."

"No! It's not true!"

"What am I, then?"

Maglor never wavered. "You are an innocent elf who is wrapped in a web of sorrow and self-loathing. It's choking you, Elrond. Let me cut a few strings."

Elrond said nothing, for he was lost in a memory of the past.

_Cut a few strings…_

Elrond had been so caught up in the darkness and doubt of his life that he had completely forgotten how he had come to be that way in the first place. The Valar's voices echoed in his head:

_For even as I speak, you are disappearing from every tapestry of your existence, one by one. If the fading reaches you in this moment, you will vanish from the very design of the world, without hope of renewal._

_It has been decided that you shall be sent back through the ages to the very day of your birth. From there you shall live your life through again. But there will be one difference; you shall remain in your present body, even as you are born and grow. _

He remembered now. Vairë's loom was crucial for his survival. His life was snared in the strands of her bright tapestries; every instant of it, from his birth onward. But now that he was thinking of it, he couldn't help but wonder…

_Did she weave the journey back in time?_

The question surged into his mind. It certainly was difficult. Would Vairë have woven the dream he had had, and the journey from the present to the past? And if she had, would it have been worth it? Would it have been lost as soon as she finished it, a waste of time?

So many questions; not a single answer…


	26. Dreams and Discoveries

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Dreams and Discoveries**

Elrond couldn't concentrate on anything for the remainder of the day. He was immensely glad when the sun set, when he could slip into sleep's embrace and forget all the troubles of his life. For a short time at least, the Web would evade his thought.

But it wasn't so. The elf's sleep was riddled with dreams, the most bizarre and fearsome of them standing out in his memory for a long time afterward:

_He was in the Halls of Mandos, staring at the countless tapestries lining the walls around him. The familiar rustling and clicking sounds met his ears. But something was different. The space between the rows of tapestries was narrower, so that his fingers brushed two wall-hangings if he even slightly extended his arms._

_He glanced to his left, and saw a familiar scene unfolding. It was evidently his birth; his mother was sitting on a couch, and his father was standing at her side. Both parents had their arms positioned as though holding babies. Elrond soon saw that his adult self was missing; this was apparently his "first" birth._

_But it was wrong. Only Eärendil held a child; Elwing's arms were empty, despite the way she held them. Either young Elrond or his brother was missing. But which one?_

_If it had been correct, and both parents had been holding infants, the half-elf was sure that the scene depicted here would be the moments following Elros' birth, and not just his own. But one of the children was nowhere to be seen…_

_He realized with a jolt that it was **him.** This must have been what Lórien had been talking about… _You are disappearing from every tapestry of your existence, one by one.

_Heart racing, Elrond turned to the tapestry on his right. The same scene met his eyes, but it was as it had happened four years previously. Elrond himself stood beside his mother, beaming as he held his infant self. Eärendil's face glowed with pride as he gently rocked his younger son in his arms._

_Quite literally, **rocked…**_

_Elrond gasped. The people embroidered on the cloth were moving; Eärendil was rocking Elros back and forth as Elrond II tried to pull Vilya from the finger of his older self, and Elwing smiled calmly as a servant gently wiped perspiration from her forehead._

_He moved on to the next tapestries, and saw on either side of him the celebratory feast for his birthday. On the elf's left, there was a total absence of Elrond I and the Valar; not so on the right. Again the difference was striking, and the embroidered figures were moving._

_The half-elf walked warily forward, seeing more and more of his life unfold. He noticed a regular pattern; the tapestries on his left did not move, and the ones on his right did. The pictures were so precise, Elrond could almost hear them speaking to each other._

_He had to fight back tears at the sight of a tapestry that showed his mother's death. The embroidered figure of Elwing was running swiftly toward the shores of the sea, earnestly clutching the Silmaril to her breast. The waves slapped against the shore and her body as she ran into the water, deeper and deeper, finally disappearing beneath the surface._

_Elrond watched for a few tense moments, and frowned as the scenario repeated itself from the beginning; Elwing appeared again at the rightmost edge of the tapestry, running toward the left side. Again Elrond watched as she flung herself and the Silmaril into the ocean, and wept quietly as he moved on._

_The very next wall-hanging showed what looked like a mere expanse of blank blue ocean beneath a dark sky; Elrond frowned at it, waiting for it to move. He was rewarded a few seconds later as a great white swan erupted from the water in an embroidered, foamy splash. A jewel resembling a large diamond literally glowed in her feathery breast. _

_Elrond smiled as the bird soared triumphantly toward a silver ship which sailed into view on the other side of the tapestry. It was his father's ship, _Vingilot;_ there was no mistaking it. The half-elf took a moment to revel in the sweetness of truth before moving on._

_Time rolled on beside him; two lives of the same elf, parallel, but notably different. Many prominent characters of Elrond's "second" life were not mentioned in the first; Caranel, for instance. _

_Others were in both, but met differing fates: on the left, Maedhros met his doom in a fiery chasm, taking one of the Silmarils down with him, while Maglor went into exile, casting the last jewel into the sea. On the right, the events were shown as in the past few weeks._

_But Elrond soon spotted a strange thing: one of the tapestries on the left showed him as a child, when none of the previous ones had. It showed he and his brother travelling with Gil-galad to Lindon._

_All at once Elrond was aware of an unnatural hissing sound. But it was no human voice; it was coming from the tapestry he was staring at. He gasped at the horrific sight._

_Thread by thread, the likeness of Elrond was unravelling from the tapestry. From the feet upward, his image was disappearing completely. The threads didn't fall away, but merely vanished into thin air, stitch by stitch. Absolutely nothing else was affected._

_Elrond hurriedly backed away as far as he could, feeling cloth at his back. The sensation of the tapestries behind him was reassuring; it reminded him that he still had a life to live in the present, even as his past life was stripped away. But that didn't change what was happening right before his eyes._

_He moved to the next tapestry, not wanting to watch himself disappear. There he was, as he was supposed to be, entering Mithlond at his brother's side. The elf sighed silently in relief._

_But the fading wasn't finished. No sooner had Elrond let out his breath than his image in front of him began to vanish just as the previous one had. The elf hurried away, breaking into a run. The whispers followed menacingly. _

_Elrond sprinted past nearly six and a half thousand years. His old life flashed before his eyes, and he did not stop to look at it…the terrible whispers were hot on his trail…_

_And at long last, he reached a dead end. He could never escape now. He glanced futilely to his left and right, meeting, in turn, a blank wall and an image from a long-lost dream. His embroidered likeness stood before those of Mandos and Lórien, whose faces were grave; he remembered it like it was yesterday, the departure from imminent death to new life…_

**_Did Vairë weave the journey back in time?_**

_He had his answer, didn't he? Was he living in layers, his old life being stripped away as he progressed through the ages of the new one?_

_The hisses of destruction were nearing him with every second… he could almost feel them tearing at him as they came ever closer… _

_**They caught up.**_

_Elrond gaped in dumbfounded horror as his toes peeled away from his feet, unwinding in thin fibres… he was frozen to the floor, he couldn't move to flee… there was nowhere to go…nothing to do but wait for the slow, agonizing end._

_But it didn't hurt all that much… if he were an onion, this must be what it felt like to be peeled…rather ticklish, not very torturous… _

_He almost laughed as the feeling crept up his thighs and progressed to his torso…and suddenly it occurred to him that he was nothing but a chest, arms and head floating a few feet above the ground. Odd, really…_

…_and as the last few strands of his hair blew away into oblivion, Elrond sat bolt upright in his bed and awoke with a gasp._

The elf stared around him in mute shock. It had all been a dream… he was still alive.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back the blankets that covered his legs. He was whole again; an elf, not just a bunch of flying threads…

He shuddered at the memory of the dream. The horrible hissing sound of the unravelling strands refused to be banished from his ears.

He shifted his gaze to his bedroom window, where a billion stars twinkled meekly in the ebony sky. His father's star wasn't visible now; it was too late in the night. Sighing sadly, Elrond flopped back onto his pillows and let his eyes glaze over again.

----

"You look terrible," Maglor greeted the half-elf at breakfast, by means of conversation.

"Thank you _so_ much for that assessment, Maglor," Elrond muttered sarcastically.

But the elf had no doubts at all that he looked every bit as awful as he felt. He had barely been able to drag himself down to the dining hall in the first place; now he slumped in his chair, his chin resting on the table.

"I mean it," the son of Fëanor continued. "What were you up to last night?"

"It's nothing," the half-elf replied. "I simply had a disturbing dream, which I would much sooner forget than repeat."

Maglor nodded understandingly. "I've had my fair share of those."

_None like mine, I'm sure, _Elrond muttered to himself. _I doubt you've ever dreamt of your whole body unravelling like a dropped ball of yarn. _But he said nothing.

The remainder of that day moved at far too slow a pace for Elrond's liking. The memory of the dream hung over his head like a thundercloud; he was almost scared to fall asleep that night. But exhaustion finally won over willpower, and he sank beneath the surface of the dark sea of oblivion.

----

He woke up the next morning surprisingly refreshed and cheerful; not quite as joyful as he had been in years past, but fairly close to. He didn't know why he was so happy all of a sudden. It had come to him out of the blue. But he chose not to question circumstance, and smiled all the way down to the dining hall.

"Well now, that's much better."

Maglor grinned as he rose to greet Elrond. The half-elf nodded as he took a seat next to his friend.

"I slept well last night, that's all."

"Well, it's done you good," the son of Fëanor commented. "You look excellent."

Elrond sniffed in good-natured wit. "Right. Like one night of rest makes any difference."

"Oh, but it does," said another voice. The elves looked up to see Cirdan approaching, and moved slightly to give him room to sit.

"Good morning, Cirdan," Elrond greeted him brightly. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine," the shipwright replied, smiling. "Thank you."

They were soon engaged in a cheerful conversation about nothing in particular, as often happens between good friends. When they ran out of recent topics to discuss, they relied on memories of their pasts.

"What was life like in Sirion?" Maglor inquired to Elrond.

The half-elf sighed, lost in reflection. What was it like? It had been the best four years of his life. He had had his parents, his brother, and a dear friend… but most of that was lost to him now, no more than memories. Eärendil and Elwing were gone; Caranel was slain. Only Elros remained – his dear little brother.

Elrond's lips parted as he prepared to speak, but found himself unexpectedly tongue-tied. He just couldn't find the words to say. Sighing soundlessly, he shut his mouth again as he tried to organize his mind.

Maglor nodded. "I understand. Some things are too precious to describe in mere words."

Elrond agreed mutely, fighting to hold back his tears as four years' worth of bittersweet memories caught up with him. Maglor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and the elf quietly submitted to his grief.

----

Elrond sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Lightning blazed across the sky, flashing through the room as rain pelted his window. The elf turned onto his side, closing his eyes as another bolt of light blinded him. This wasn't the first time he had fled to his bedroom in the middle of the day.

He sat up and scowled as the lit candle on his desk wobbled dangerously. A moment later it steadied itself, still glowing. Nodding in satisfaction, Elrond lay down again, gazing out of the window.

He sat up again almost immediately as something bright white darted past his window; it wasn't lightning, surely. Elrond stared out into the wet, windy blackness, his pulse racing. Snatching up Mandos' cloak, he put it on and rushed outside. Icy rain poured down on him, entirely drenching him. Elrond relied on the staccato bursts of lightning to see where he was going.

Something suddenly caught his eye, something that didn't belong. The unmoving form of a woman lay slumped against a sturdy tree, apparently unconscious. Elrond hurried to her side, kneeling anxiously next to her.

A flash of lightning illuminated her face, and Elrond gasped in awe and horror.

"Lady Elwing!"

His mother stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering and opening. She blinked a few times, focusing on his face, and smiled weakly as she spoke in a faint whisper.

"I knew I'd find you here, _ion nin._" (my son)


	27. Revelations and Reunions

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Revelations and Reunions**

For the longest time, Elrond thought his heart had stopped right there and then. Had his mother just said what he had just heard? He was sure his ears were working properly – they didn't feel at all waterlogged. But the question remained…

"How did you know?" he gasped.

"Lord Mandos told me everything when I went to his halls," Elwing replied. "I died, you know, a few months ago. But Lord Manwë granted me new life."

The half-elf nodded. "I know all about that. I saw it on Lady Vairë's tapestries."

"You don't mean… you didn't…" His mother's face paled.

"No, no," Elrond reassured her. "I just dreamt about it." He reached down and helped her to stand, holding her arm to steady her. She smiled gratefully, and he addressed her again.

"What are you doing here, Mother?" The sweet word was like a blessing to his tongue. "I thought you lived in Valinor, in a tower by the Sea…"

"I do," his mother nodded. "But I had to see you and your brother again. I missed you so much."

"So did I," the half-elf told her. "I've been thinking about you ever since you left Sirion." He glanced around them at the stormy afternoon, switching topics slightly. "We should really get inside."

"We can't get much wetter," Elwing reminded him.

Elrond laughed; the sound was drowned out by a thunderclap. "Good point. But please come in, anyway. I'll introduce you to King Gil-galad."

"Gil-galad is King?" Elwing frowned over at her son as they headed toward the shelter of the city. "When did this happen?"

"Sometime after you left, I think. I'm not quite sure."

"There's so much I still need to know," Elwing told him. "What happened after the siege of Sirion? Lord Mandos told me that you and Elros had been kidnapped by the sons of Fëanor… so how did you get here?"

"That is a long and terrible tale," Elrond replied quietly. "It began when we were taken by Maedhros. He kept Elros and I as prisoners for a while, but he started to treat us as his guests when Maglor persuaded him to."

"Maglor persuaded him? His brother?"

"Yes. After a few months, the two of them went out on what they said was 'an excursion of sorts'. I didn't realize until they returned two weeks later that they had stolen the other two Silmarils from Eönwë's camp. And they brought Caranel back with them," he added bitterly, "as _baggage._"

Elwing gasped, horrified. Elrond nodded.

"Yes, baggage. But I didn't understand it was Caranel until a few days later, when I was washing her hair one night and she revealed her secret to me. Maedhros had called her a mute because she refused to speak to him at all, but she finally confessed to me."

"And then?" his mother urged him.

Elrond swallowed the swelling lump in his throat. "And then… the very next morning… she was killed by Maedhros. She died in my arms, and I watched her spirit follow Lord Mandos…" The silent, twin armies of his tears marched down his face without retreat as the old wound opened.

"I'm sorry," Elwing murmured, putting her arm around him in a tender half-hug. Elrond regained his composure and continued his tale of woe as they walked on.

"Maglor soon confessed to me that he had never wanted to steal the other two Silmarils, but that Maedhros had forced him to. Lord Mandos asked him if he would like to be redeemed, and it was done.

"Maglor and I held a funeral for Caranel, but not before I dealt Maedhros a deep blow to his head. He was never the same after that."

"Why? What happened?"

"I tried to heal him," the half-elf replied. "But Lord Mandos told me not to… and by then it was too late. Maedhros went completely insane, and attacked Maglor and I. He died in the end."

Elwing nodded. "What then?"

"Maglor gave me the other two Silmarils under Lord Mandos' orders," Elrond answered. "We left that night with Elros, and met King Gil-galad. He brought us here."

His mother was silent for a while as she digested this. "So Maglor is now redeemed, and his brother is dead." She turned her silver-blue eyes to her son. "And does he know about you?"

Elrond shook his head. "You and Father are the only two people in the world who know. Other than the Valar, of course."

Elwing nodded again. "Very well."

"Elrond!" a voice called.

Elrond turned, seeing Maglor hurrying toward him. The son of Fëanor seemed initially oblivious to Elwing's presence as he gasped to the half-elf, "King Gil-galad requests that you see him in the throne room…"

"I was wanting to speak with him myself," Elrond replied calmly, "about the arrival of an old and good friend of mine – Lady Elwing of Eldamar." He nodded toward his mother, who bowed her head in respect.

Maglor looked as thought he had been turned to stone; he stood completely still, his eyes widening as his mouth fell open. After one long moment he flung himself upon the floor at her feet.

"My lady, I beg your forgiveness!" he sobbed. "Your death was my fault! My heart was in darkness then, but now I have seen the light of redemption… Lord Mandos granted me his pardon; now I beseech yours."

Elwing smiled benevolently upon the humble elf. "Then you shall have it. Please get up, Maglor. Eru knows those clothes were never meant for cleaning floors."

Maglor slowly lifted his awe-filled, teary eyes, staring up at her as she extended her hand to him. He grasped it carefully and climbed to his feet, saying, "Thank you…"

"You're welcome," she said kindly. "Elrond had just told me of your redemption before you arrived."

"He did?" the son of Fëanor asked, turning to the half-elf, who nodded.

"I did," he replied, smiling. "Now, what was it King Gil-galad wanted?"

----

They entered the throne room together, bowing as the King rose to greet them. He smiled upon Maglor and Elrond, and acknowledged Elwing with a nod as he walked forward.

"Ah, good to see you, my lords… and my lady. I don't believe we've met before. Might I have your name?" he asked, extending his hand to her.

Elwing smiled and placed her hand in Gil-galad's, flushing slightly as he kissed it. "I am Elwing of Eldamar, sire."

"Elwing?" the King repeated, staring at her in disbelief. "Eärendil the Mariner's wife?"

"The very same," she nodded.

"This is indeed a great honor, my lady," Gil-galad told her, smiling and bowing his head. "Your sons will be overjoyed when they hear of this!"

"I could summon them, sire," Elrond volunteered. "It would be a pleasure."

"Then go, by all means," the King concurred.

Elrond obediently bowed and left, heading back down the corridor and turning after a few feet. He called to his younger self and his brother as he walked down another hallway.

The elf soon found Elros in the bedroom he shared with his brother, lying on his bed with his eyes shut, counting backwards aloud.

"…seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! Ready or not!" he cried, springing up from the bed. "Oh, hello, Godfather!"

"Hello, Elros," the elf-lord grinned. "Playing hide-and-seek, are you?"

Elros nodded. "Can you help me look for Elrond?"

"All right," he nodded. "It will be faster that way. We'd best find him quickly – I have a surprise for the two of you."

"A surprise?" cried Elros excitedly. "What kind of surprise?"

"I _love_ surprises!" added a second enthusiastic voice. Elrond looked down just in time to see his younger self poke his head out from under the bed. "What is it?"

"It won't be a surprise if I tell you, will it?" Elrond I smiled.

"We'll still act surprised if you tell!" Elros insisted.

Elrond I shook his head, laughing. "Sorry, boys. Just come with me."

The twins scampered along at his heels as the elf-lord led them back to the throne room. He cleared his throat to announce his return, and beamed as his mother turned to him.

"My lady," he smiled, "your children are here."

Elwing's eyes lit up in delight as Elrond I stepped aside, letting Elrond II and Elros come forward. She knelt to embrace them as they rushed toward her, leaping elatedly into her outstretched arms.

Elrond I smiled as he watched the happy scene. He could feel every ounce of his younger self's unbridled love. Elrond II laughed in delight as he was overwhelmed by affectionate kisses from his mother.

When at last mother and sons parted, Elrond II turned to his older self in sheer euphoria.

"My wish came true!" he cried. "I knew it would!"

"What wish?" Elwing asked, smiling.

"Elrond and I were wishing on the stars a while ago," Elrond I replied. "I'm guessing that your son wished to see you again."

Elrond II nodded earnestly. "Right! Did your wish ever come true, Godfather?" he asked.

Elrond I was silent for a moment; his gaze flickered discreetly over to Maglor before he gave a sigh and answered, "Yes, it did. It came true the day after I made it."

"What was your wish?" the child wondered.

A silent tear slipped down the elf-lord's cheek as he whispered a reply.

"I wished for a very dear friend of mine to be free of the torture she was suffering. Lord Mandos granted my wish, the day my friend Caranel died."

----

Time sailed by, and Elrond's life was again filled with joy. It was almost like things had been in Sirion. Almost.

The half-elf sighed as he watched a bright scarlet leaf flutter past his window in the cool October breeze. Autumn was well underway, and already the air sparkled with a warning of frost. He hated this time of year.

"Elrond?" said a voice behind him.

"Hello, Mother," the elf replied, turning and smiling wanly. "Come in."

Elwing crossed the threshold obediently, moving to her son's side when he nodded to her. She followed his gaze out the window, to where dry leaves were gathering in piles on the withering lawn.

"I've never liked autumn," Elrond muttered. "It's so depressing. Everything is dying… it just reminds me of all the death I've seen, and all the death I know is to come…" He gave a heavy sigh. "And winter is even worse."

"It's not so bad," Elwing spoke up. "After all, spring always comes after the winter. The rebirth of the land, bursting into new life after death… it's rather like me, now that I think of it."

Elrond smiled up at his mother. "There's that."

Elwing stood in pensive silence for a moment before she spoke again, changing the topic of their talk a little.

"You just said that you know there will be death to come. Do you know whose?"

Elrond turned away, not wanting her to see his tears. "If I'm right, yes. But Lord Mandos told me things wouldn't be the same for me in this life, so I might well be wrong. I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore."

He looked back at her, gazing solemnly into her silver-blue eyes. "Nothing, that is, except for you."


	28. Bondage and Blood

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bondage and Blood**

Mother and son stood and talked long into the evening. It was past twilight when both of them retired, after watching Eärendil rise for his nightly flight.

"Goodnight, Mother," the elf-lord yawned.

"Goodnight, Ronnie."

Elrond smiled at the use of his pet name. "I never thought I'd hear that name again."

Elwing's eyes glimmered strangely. "I never thought I'd use it again. Now get to bed, it's late."

The half-elf smirked wryly. "Yes, Nana."

----

Elrond lay awake for a while, watching his father soar silently across the star-sprinkled heavens until he softly faded from view. No other star could approach him without being overwhelmed by the light of the Silmaril. _Vingilot_ sailed alone.

The elf sat up and smiled as Lórien entered, as he had done many times before, with the intent of sending Elrond dreams to fill the deep void of sleep. The Vala sat at his friend's bedside in the chair that had been set out specifically for him, and reached carefully out for Elrond.

Two pairs of blue eyes slowly met and locked, heedless of Lórien's hand hovering above. They held each other there for what seemed an age. This was a regular routine for them – why did they both feel that this night would be different?

Elrond frowned slightly as the Vala laid his hand on his forehead. On any other night, his touch would be like the caress of a butterfly's wings; this time, however, the elf was fully and unusually aware of Lórien's fingers pressing against his head. It almost hurt, but not quite.

Lórien calmly sent out the vision that had become their nightly practice: the pale ledge of awareness above the dark whirlpool of sleep.

_They strode together to the edge, where Elrond flipped deftly down and hung by his right hand, waiting for Lórien. The Vala smiled as he dropped to his knees, reaching out to pry his friend's fingers away from the stone. He sang tenderly as he pulled each digit away, one by one._

"_Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…"_

_Just before he fell, Elrond smiled briefly up at Lórien, who returned the gesture calmly._

"_Sleep well," the Dream-lord whispered._

Lórien shivered slightly as he pulled away from the now-sleeping elf. He couldn't begin to try to explain it, but the Vala knew something was going to happen soon… something that would alter them both forever.

----

Mandos sighed as he cast off his earthly body, merging with the shadows all about him. Unbound by his restricting corporeality, the Vala moved silently and steadily, choosing to compromise between the extremes of death: swiftness and slowness.

Slipping through the city unnoticed, he halted abruptly as something else arrived.

NÁMO…

The familiar voice echoed through the Doomsman's mind as he swept through Mithlond. It was great and powerful, yet gentle and fatherly at the same time. It was a voice whose owner knew no limits, whether in time, space or might.

If Mandos had had a body at this point, he would have bowed. Even so, his incorporeal spirit humbled itself before the voice of his Creator.

_I am here, Eru._

LISTEN WELL. YOU KNOW WHAT WILL OCCUR TOMORROW EVENING.

It was not a question. The Vala affirmed the statement in one word. _Yes._

YOU KNOW WHO IS COMING FOR THEM.

_I do._

THEN YOU KNOW THAT YOU MUST NOT INTERFERE BEFORE I SAY TO. LET THEM BE SUBJECT TO THE FIRE.

Mandos was silent. He knew just what Eru was telling him. But to allow this to happen as it was decreed, to do nothing… would it not be like treason?

ARE YOU CONSIDERING DISOBEDIENCE, NÁMO?

The voice of Eru was still gentle, prepared to forgive, but slightly firmer. The Doomsman lowered himself even closer to the floor.

_Please forgive me. I meant no impertinence. But you know of my thoughts toward them. To do nothing but stand and watch… it would be like betraying brothers._

THERE WILL BE DARKNESS AHEAD FOR YOU ALL, BUT YOU ALONE KNOW WHAT THE END WILL BRING. I AM TRUSTING YOU TO FULFIL MY VERDICT.

Mandos concurred submissively. _I shall do as you say._

GOOD.

The voice faded, and the Vala was left alone in the shadows. His spirit slowly coalesced into his body, and he stood still and mute. For the first time in his life, he felt a prickle in his eyes, and they brimmed with moisture as he realized the fate of his comrades.

For the first time in his life, the Doomsman wept.

----

Lórien left Elrond's bedroom softly, and shed his body just outside of the door. Skin, hair and clothing seemed to melt away into nothing. His spirit, free now, fluttered through the air like an invisible hummingbird, for dreams are fleeting and versatile.

He darted through the hallways, searching for his brother. Mandos had a rather bad habit of wandering off whenever he was needed. And tonight was no exception to the rule.

If he had had lips, Lórien would have smiled. Even so, he radiated a feeling of pleasure when he spotted his brother walking slowly down a corridor nearby. Mandos seemed not to notice him at once; his eyes were downcast, and his posture indicated deep negativity. Instinctively, Lórien slowed down and approached him with the utmost caution.

_Námo?_ he called out softly.

Mandos halted abruptly and stiffened, dissolving quickly into the darkness. Lórien flitted toward him, dancing like a windblown leaf.

_Námo,_ he repeated, _are you all right?_

The Doomsman's only response was a deep mental sigh. The Dream-lord swirled around him, asking gently, _What is it?_

Mandos finally turned toward him. _Eru has spoken to me,_ _Irmo._

_And?_ Lórien hovered concernedly at his brother's side. _What did He say?_

Silence.

Lórien sighed. _Very well. Perhaps it is best that only you know._

_Indeed, _Mandos muttered to himself. _It is indeed._

_----_

Elrond stirred slightly, regaining awareness with a small frown. He didn't generally wake up this early; the sun hadn't even risen outside his window. Eärendil's star still sailed the deep, inky sky, bathing the world below with the Silmaril's light.

Elrond's thoughts turned slowly to his own Silmarils. Why had Mandos chosen for them to be given to him, of all people? What would he possibly do with both of them? At the present they sat hidden in a box in the back of his wardrobe; he didn't dare take them out, for fear that someone would see them and assume they had been stolen. So they remained secret to none but Maglor.

The elf winced as a sunbeam lanced through his window, momentarily dazzling him. He strode over to the window and twitched the curtain slightly closed, partially obscuring the light. There, that was better.

He turned and smiled as someone knocked on the door. "Come in, please," he called.

"Good morning, Mother," he added more quietly.

"Good morning," Elwing greeted him, closing the door behind herself before moving up to her son and kissing his cheek.

Elrond's face instantly turned a vivid shade of crimson. "Mother!"

"Your _other_ half lets me kiss him," Elwing told him, slight disapproval in her voice.

Elrond stared apologetically at her. "I'm sorry. But what if someone was watching? This half of me is a grown elf, after all, and people would start to wonder. How could we bluff our way out of it?"

His mother nodded. "You're right. I shouldn't have."

"But I'm glad you did," Elrond smiled.

Elwing smiled as well, turning toward the window and sighing sadly. Eärendil was gone for another day.

"Do you remember the day he left Sirion?" she asked softly.

Elrond did remember. The vivid recollection of that bitter night thrust a dagger of sorrow deep into his heart. It felt like five minutes ago, even though they both knew it was years.

The elf-lord's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Eärendil had written him a letter on the night of his departure… Elrond had framed it and hung it on his bedroom wall. What had become of it? Had it been destroyed in the siege of Sirion? It seemed impossible that the answer was no.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Elwing inquired gently.

Elrond wept quietly as he explained, "Father wrote me a letter the day he left. I promised myself that I would always keep it, as a reminder of what we once had. But I don't have it anymore. I think it was destroyed when Sirion was attacked."

Elwing put her arm gently around him. "He wrote me a note, too. I took it with me when I fled to the Sea, so I would have something of him with me when I died. It was ruined by the water."

Elrond stared at her in awe. "I didn't know."

"No-one but your father did."

They both sighed, gazing again at the sunny blue sky. They had shared their losses, and it seemed that their grief was diminished slightly. Just slightly.

----

Elrond had only just climbed into bed that evening when Lórien dutifully arrived for their "sessions". They exchanged nods, and the Vala sat down by the elf's bedside, as always. He reached out to send out a dream, slightly more slowly than usual.

Elrond frowned slightly, but waited patiently as Lórien prepared to do his duty. His hand came closer… skin met skin…

And they both screamed.

The world was ablaze with fire… it ignited and sprang up from the places where Lórien's fingertips met Elrond's forehead. The flames spread until they covered both the elf-lord and the Vala… it was on them and in them, and it _was_ them… bound by their agony, they could do nothing but scream…

Blood poured from Elrond's wounds, mingling with the tormented tears he didn't know he was weeping. He reached up with a flaming hand and seized the wrist that held them together… but it only redoubled his anguish. They were doubly fused now, held fast by bonds stronger than steel…

…but Elrond, through the scarlet haze that veiled his weeping eyes, caught sight of a dark form swooping into view behind Lórien. A third cry joined their own: "_Irmo! Irmo!_"

The Dream-lord turned to the other figure, sobbing … the shadow gripped Lórien's wrist in a blurry hand, attempting to wrest them apart, but to no avail…

"_NO!_"

The fourth voice slashed through the world like a knife. A bolt of bright blue light blinded them, obliterating even the deadly flames…

Elrond sobbed in relief as Lórien's hand was pulled away from his head, and he released the Vala's wrist. They were free; the terrible fire was gone. But the agony still lingered.

Half-blinded by blood and tears, the elf stared up at the figures who stood before him. Two of them were familiar; one was not. Lórien sobbed as he clutched his bleeding wrist, and Mandos held a strip of cloth firmly to the deep wound.

The third figure simply stared right back at Elrond, and wept silently. Tears fell from the sapphire eyes like rain, and the fair face was filled with sorrow and compassion. And the elf suddenly knew who it was.

The name slipped from his tongue in a whisper as he slowly blacked out.

"_Lord Manwë…_"


	29. The Council of Manwë

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Council of Manwë**

Manwë sighed softly as Elrond lost consciousness, falling limply back against his blood-spattered pillows. The many winds that ceaselessly circled the Vala's body made the only noise as they whistled and howled through his sky-blue robe; even Lórien's sobs were hushed. He stared at his comrade in awed, pained silence.

Manwë waved a hand, and three white handkerchiefs appeared between his fingers. He bound two of them around the Dream-lord and Elrond's hands, then turned and used the last to wipe the blood and tears from Elrond's still face.

"What has happened here?" he asked softly.

"We were attacked, Manwë," Lórien replied in a shaky voice. "I fear that our efforts have been in vain."

Manwë's golden eyebrows, the same color as his shoulder-length hair, knitted together in confusion. "Explain yourself."

"It was Morgoth," Mandos informed him gravely. "He is attempting to extend his power beyond the confines of the Void."

Manwë fell silent for a moment, lost in deep thought. Morgoth trying to escape the Void? No-one could or desired to set him loose. An escape was impossible! How could this be so?

But his thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash as the door to the bedroom burst open. Elwing rushed inside, clutching a sobbing Elrond II to her chest. The child held a towel desperately to his face; the cloth served to muffle his anguished howls.

Elwing halted at the elf-lord's beside, oblivious to the Valar standing a few feet away.

"Oh, Elrond," she wept, "what happened to you?"

"He was attacked," Manwë answered. "We shall devise the means and motives of this as soon as possible."

Elwing gasped, lifting her wide eyes to gaze in awe at the Valar. She knelt and bowed as low as she could while holding her child, whispering reverently, "Forgive me, my lords, I did not realize…"

"You are forgiven," Manwë told her, smiling gently. "Get up, and please sit down."

Elwing rose to her feet, carefully holding the bedpost for support as her knees threatened to fold beneath her. She took a seat anxiously on the edge of the bed, soothing Elrond II as she waited for further instruction from the Vala.

"Call to all of the others," the Wind-lord ordered the Doomsman firmly. "Summon them here immediately. It is time for a council."

Mandos nodded once, sending the same message to each of his fellow Valar and Valier: _Come to the dwelling of Elrond Peredhel in Mithlond. Darkness is upon us. Manwë has called for an immediate council._

Manwë nodded in approval. "Good. Now we wait."

They didn't wait long. A second later, ten forms like wisps of colored smoke swirled into the chamber, slowly taking shape. Soon seven tall women and three tall men stood behind the Fëanturi and the Wind-lord.

One of the women moved instantly to Manwë's side, laying an ivory-like hand upon his shoulder. Her curling hair was deepest black, with silver streaks like the paths of comets. Her silver eyes sparkled like diamonds, and her glittering raiment was an exact mirror of the night sky; every star to be found in the heavens was also somewhere on the dress of Varda, Queen of the Stars, wife of Manwë.

Beside Varda stood Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits. The Valië was clad all in deep green, and her eyes shone the same emerald hue. Her long, wavy hair shimmered with the most vibrant colors of autumn, from the deep gold of sunflowers to vivid pumpkin orange, to deep chocolate brown and mahogany, as well as every tone between.

Nienna, the Weeper, wore a dress of deep indigo beneath a black, hooded cloak. Her hair fell down her back in ebony curls, and some dark locks framed her pale face. Her eyes, the same deep blue of her dress, were so dark that they almost seemed black. She was the sister of Lórien and Mandos.

Lórien's wife, Estë the Healer, stood next to her sister-in-law. Her silver locks had a pale mauve sheen, and her eyes were a lavender hue; the soothing perfume of that flower hung about her like a cloud. Her attire was a dress of simple, pale grey.

Vairë the Weaver, the wife of Mandos, appeared as she had in Elrond's dreams. The deep red fabric of her dress, embroidered with many shape-shifting golden runes, was the same as the elf-lord had seen it. The only difference was that her cinnamon-colored hair was no longer tied back with the white ribbon.

Vána the Youthful, the sister of Yavanna, had the look of a maid who was barely of age. She wore a dress of pale rose, and one of the same flowers was tucked delicately behind her ear. Her corn-gold curls tumbled past her shoulders in a bright cascade, and her eyes were nearly as blue as Manwë's.

Slightly behind Vána stood Nessa the Dancer, Oromë's sister. She was clothed in a white bodice and deep green skirt, with a belt of silver ribbon. Her straight brown hair was tied back in a similar fashion to how Vairë's had been, but with a green band instead of white.

The first of the male figures was the tallest by far, with hair and beard as white as the foamy crests of stormy ocean waves. His long robe shimmered with blue, grey and green when it was blown by Manwë's winds. He was Ulmo, Lord of the Waters.

At Ulmo's right stood Aulë the Smith, the husband of Yavanna. He was clothed in a dark grey tunic and breeches, and boots and gloves of brown leather. His hair glittered in the moonlight like burnished silver, and his deep eyes were like dormant coals, set to ignite at any moment. A belt wrought of gold and silver circled his waist.

Nessa's husband, Tulkas the Wrestler, had a very lithe, yet muscular physique. His gold hair fell to his shoulders, framing his ruddy face with its golden beard and laughing hazel eyes. He wore an ivory tunic, breeches of fawn-colored cloth, and no shoes or boots.

Manwë turned to face his kinsfolk, frowning as he silently counted them up. There should have been one more.

"Where is Oromë?" he asked.

The sound of a whinnying horse drifted in from outside, and the Vala in question arrived gracefully; at least, as gracefully as anyone can be when clad in armor from head to foot. A blood-red cloak of some silky fabric hung to his ankles, and a full quiver of arrows was slung over his shoulder. The bow was in his right hand, and a curved hunting horn was in the left.

"I am here," he said, nodding to Manwë as he moved to stand beside his wife, Vána.

"Good," the Wind-lord replied. "Then let us begin."

He snapped his fingers sharply, and the furniture was rearranged instantly in a flash of blue light. The desk and chairs vanished, and the bed slid to the center of the room, with Elwing and Elrond still on it. Fourteen high-backed, throne-like chairs, one for each Vala or Valië, formed a ring around the elves.

The fourteen Valar took their places, standing before their chairs. The Lords occupied the left half of the circle, and their wives took up the right. Vairë stood a little way back from the others, to make room for her loom. Mandos and Lórien stood side-by-side between Oromë and Tulkas. The Dream-lord wrung his hands nervously, until his brother gently pried them apart.

Estë bowed her head in respect as she spoke to Manwë. "Would it not be better if Elrond were fully conscious, and perhaps fully healed?"

The Vala nodded. "Would you do the honors?"

The Valië complied, stepping over to the bed. She first turned to Elrond II, gently taking the towel from him.

"I can take care of that for you," she said softly, indicating the blood-smeared wounds on the boy's forehead and hand. "Hold still…" She placed her fingers against them, allowing a rush of healing power to flow from her. In mere seconds Elrond's skin was smooth and unmarred.

The child stared down at his hand, felt his forehead, and then smiled at the Valië. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," Estë replied kindly. She then reached out to Elrond I and shook his shoulder lightly to awaken him. Elwing looked on worriedly as her son came to, moaning softly.

The elf-lord's eyes fluttered, and he stared up at Estë in silent confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but she gently pressed a slender forefinger to his lips.

"Hush," she whispered soothingly. "Lie still a moment. You have endured a great trial."

Elrond nodded obediently, sending out a thought to her. _Might I ask what is happening, my lady?_

_A council,_ she replied. _All of my kin are here to discuss the nature of your attack._

_An attack?_ the elf-lord frowned. _Is that what it was?_

Estë nodded grimly. _You and Irmo were assailed by Morgoth. We have come to decide what is to be done about it._

_Irmo? Do you mean Lord Lórien?_ Elrond asked.

_Irmo is his true name,_ the Valië explained. _But that is irrelevant. What matters now is this council. We are ready,_ she added, sending out the last sentence to Manwë as well as she returned to her place, between Nienna and Vairë.

The Wind-lord nodded. _So be it._

He nodded to the others, and all of the Valar but Manwë took their seats at the same time, in an unnervingly fluid motion. The Council had begun.

Manwë stood before the company, his head held high despite the gravity of their purpose. The Valar were completely silent, all gazing directly at Elrond.

The elf-lord instinctively attempted to make his body as small as he could, while the child huddled against his mother, peeking fretfully out from behind his bloodstained towel. At last the Wind-lord's voice broke the thick silence.

"Valar and Eldar," he said, "we are gathered here this night to concern ourselves with the fates of one of our own, and a good friend of this one. For as you may know, just minutes ago, Irmo Lórien and Elrond Peredhel were attacked by Morgoth."

A visible shudder ran through the assembly as the hated name passed from mouth to ear, again and again. Elwing held Elrond II close to her with one arm, and gently put her other arm around Elrond I.

Manwë held up his hand for silence, continuing as a hush filled the room.

"Yes," he said gravely. "Morgoth is reaching out directly, extending his evil beyond the Void in a sure path. It is uncertain now what his purpose is, but what we can be certain of is that nothing good can come of it."

Nienna began to cry softly, her face in her hands. Estë placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder, staring over at her husband as she did so. Lórien lifted his eyes to her face, and they shared a long, deep look. The Healer's eyes were distraught; the Dream-lord's were desolate.

Elrond I stared up at the Wind-lord in confusion, finally voicing his deepest concerns.

"My lord, when Morgoth attacked us… to me, it felt as if his power was deep inside me. If that is so, would that not make us…" He couldn't say the last word.

Manwë nodded solemnly, reading the elf's mind as it spoke of what his tongue would not utter.

"There is only one way to be sure of that," he said. "Where are the Silmarils?"

Lórien's face turned the hue of sour milk; Elrond's mouth went dry as old parchment. He knew exactly what this was; a test for the detection of evil. The elf forced saliva into his mouth so he could speak.

"Th- they're in a box… on the top shelf of my wardrobe…"

The Wind-lord waved a hand smoothly, and the aforementioned closet flew open; the box soared out, and Manwë caught it. He opened the container slowly, pulling out the worn cloth bundle and unwrapping it. A cool blaze of light flooded the room, and many of the Valar began to whisper among themselves.

Manwë took one jewel in each hand, stepping between Elrond and Lórien. He extended a hand to each, saying, "Take them."

The elf lifted his gaze to stare deep into the Dream-lord's eyes. The Vala looked every bit as frightened as he was. They moved as one, both holding their breath as they closed their fingers around the proffered Silmarils.

Elrond nearly sobbed in relief. The large jewel felt cool and heavy in his hand, and there was absolutely no stench of burning flesh or blood. They were safe.

Manwë nodded in satisfaction. "Very well."

He put the Silmarils away calmly, speaking to Lórien as he did so.

"Be this as it may, I fear we cannot risk Morgoth using you again to reach Elrond. Thus it is my sad duty to dismiss you. You must no longer guard Elrond as you have done; you are to make no mental or physical contact with him whatsoever, from this moment on."

Lórien stared at his kinsman in silence for a moment, his eyes brimming with tears; then he shut his eyes and nodded submissively. "As you wish."

Looking up at his friend, he sighed and whispered a final farewell. "Please remember me, Elrond."

The half-elf nodded, beginning to weep as well. "I will never forget."

The Dream-lord nodded once again, swirling silently and invisibly from the chamber, and leaving behind an empty chair and more than one aching heart.


	30. Dangerous Game

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dangerous Game**

Elrond struggled to maintain his composure as he watched his friend disappear. Lórien, his comrade and caregiver, who had always been near in times of need, would now never be able to contact him again. The tears that had been welling in the elf's eyes now spilled out in a bitter flood.

"I am sorry," Manwë murmured gently, placing a kind hand on his shoulder. "But this is how it must be."

Elrond nodded, trying to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he raised a hand to wipe his face. "I understand."

The Wind-lord nodded, turning toward Mandos. The Doomsman was staring down at his brother's now-vacant seat, his eyes glimmering a sorrowful blue.

_Námo, sorrowful?_ Manwë frowned. _Certainly not! _In his memory, the one time the Doomsman had ever shown pity or mercy was when Lúthien Tinúviel had sung before him, stirring him to feel for her and grant her new life.

Oh, yes, and there was Elwing… lifted from the depths of Belegaer, given swans' wings to soar in search of her beloved Eärendil. Well, that made the count two. Still a trivial amount, surely…

Manwë stood in silence, lost to deep reflection. Mandos would not meet his gaze; Elrond stared mutely up at him, his thoughts slipping softly into the Vala's mind.

_What now, Lord Manwë?_ he wondered. _What of Lord Mandos? Will you place upon one brother the burden of two?_

The Wind-lord turned toward him, fixing him with his deep blue eyes. _No, indeed,_ he replied. _We shall all share that duty, the thirteen of us who remain._

Elrond nodded. _Very well… thank you. But how can you expect to vanquish an unseen foe? We need to find out what Morgoth is planning, and precisely how and when he will act._

_You appear to be forgetting,_ said a second voice, _that one who has this information is sitting before you._

Elf and Wind-lord turned to Mandos, nodding in confirmation. _Then by all means, share it,_ Manwë bade him.

The Doomsman consented, speaking aloud so all could hear.

"Needless to say, Morgoth _will_ strike again," he announced. "He has a definite plot in his mind, and he will not make decisions lightly. Irmo's interaction with Elrond proved no more than a slight hindrance. There can be no doubt that Morgoth will eliminate anyone and everyone who comes between he and his chosen target, Elrond."

The assembly was rippled by a second shiver. Elrond stared at Mandos in silent disbelief. Was Morgoth merely going to pick them all off, one at a time? They were being used like pawns in a sick, twisted game of chess… _That was it!_

Elrond's lips curved into a sly smile. Chess, eh? Two were needed to play that game. The diagram of a strategy began to crystallize in his mind.

Mandos noted the elf's triumphant expression and nodded once, sending out a thought to Manwë: _It appears that Elrond has a plan._

The Wind-lord turned to the elf, still speaking to the Doomsman, _Indeed. Let us assist him._

At a silent nod from both Valar, a sheet of parchment, an inkwell and a pen appeared on Elrond's lap. The half-elf smiled gratefully. "Thank you, my lords. This is exactly what I need."

Mandos smiled calmly. _We know._

Elrond I smoothed the parchment upon his knee, picking up the pen and reaching for the inkwell, which Elrond II was fiddling with. "It's not opening!"

Elwing carefully tried to take it from him, saying, "Be careful, dear, you'll spill it…"

The cork popped off, but contrary to all expectations, there was no shower of dark liquid. The inkwell at first seemed totally empty. Elwing frowned, poking a forefinger into it to make sure it was really unfilled.

To her surprise, her fingertip met with something smooth and hard, and slightly wet. She pulled her finger away, staring at a cool, colorless drop of liquid clinging to it.

"What in the world…?" she muttered.

"What is it?" Elrond I asked.

"Look," Elwing told him, holding out the small bottle. "There's no ink in it… it's ice."

"_Ice?_"

His mother nodded. "Improbable, but true."

The Valar were whispering among themselves again, mystification evident everywhere. Everywhere, that is, but with Mandos. The Doomsman was staring at Elrond II in total satisfaction.

"How is this possible?" Elrond I wondered aloud, now examining the inkwell himself.

"I have a theory," Elwing replied. "If we are to assume that there was ink in the bottle at first, then the change must have happened sometime between when it appeared, and when I took it. Which means…"

The blood drained from her face as she and everyone else turned to look at Elrond II, who was staring around in utter bewilderment.

"What?" he cried, perplexed. "What did I do?"

"You have transformed ink into ice with nothing but your own hands," Varda informed him. "It appears that you possess a power derived directly from Eru Himself. That is a rare and considerable gift, Elrond. You must use it _extremely_ wisely, and also learn to control it. Some would choose to use this power for evil, but in the right hands it may have a vital role in what is to come… In other words, this will alter your life for ever."

The child was silent, staring wide-eyed at his hands, as though he expected them to freeze over. At last he looked up at her, saying sincerely, "I don't want this to be bad. I'll keep it for good, however I can. "

The Star-queen smiled. "Good. But to keep this in your control, it must be entirely secret. Not a single living creature outside of this room must know about your power. Do you understand me?" Her voice was clear and insistent.

Elrond II stared straight into Varda's glittering silver eyes, speaking one word. "Yes."

She nodded, sighing silently. "Very well."

Manwë turned to Elrond I, asking, "What is it you are planning?"

"I will gladly show you," the elf replied, "but I'll need some ink first."

"Of course." The Vala passed his hand over the inkwell and nodded. "There you are."

"Thank you," the elf-lord smiled, loading the pen with ink and beginning to draw in long, smooth strokes.

"Imagine us," he said as he drew, "your kin and myself, standing on the squares along one side of a chessboard. Opposite us are Morgoth and his servants. A game is set to start."

He showed the Wind-lord his diagram, which did indeed resemble a chessboard. But in lieu of chessmen, sets of letters took up the squares on either end.

"I see," Manwë nodded, scanning the letters on the side nearest Elrond. Two letters were in most of the squares; he realized they were abbreviations of all fourteen Valar's names.

The letters Mw., which stood for Manwë, were in the King's square; Vd., for Varda, was in the Queen's place. Ul. (Ulmo) and Ya. (Yavanna) replaced the Bishops on either side of the King and Queen; Au. (Aulë) and Ni. (Nienna) were in the Knights' places. Or. (Oromë) and Md. (Mandos) stood in place of the Rooks. These eight were the Aratar, the mightiest of the Valar.

The eight squares which would have held Pawns read as follows: Es. (Estë), Vr. (Vairë), Ló. (Lórien), Vá. (Vána), Tu. (Tulkas), Ne. (Nessa) and El. I and II. These last two were obviously Elrond's two bodies.

Manwë studied these for a short while before shifting his gaze down toward the other end of the "board". Around the initials Mo., for Morgoth, the squares were each filled by a single X, representing the Dark Lord's nameless rabble of minions.

Manwë slowly passed a hand over the parchment, which changed in a heartbeat. Small replicas of the Valar and Elrond rose up in their respective places, opposite the figures of Morgoth and fifteen faceless shadows. A finger's flick set them in motion: the Morgoth figure sent a long tongue of flame toward the figure of Lórien, who disappeared from the board and rematerialized just outside of it, a crestfallen look on his small face.

Manwë nodded sadly. "Yes. But the game is only beginning; there are many more moves to make."

Elrond sighed and nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the parchment. The figure of Morgoth was wearing an ugly grin of triumph, while the replica of Lórien appeared to be sobbing silently with his face in his hands. Elrond was in no doubt that the Dream-lord himself was doing just that, somewhere far away.

There was silence, filled with steady clicking and the song of the wind. Some of the Valar exchanged mute glances, while others stared straight ahead of them. Vairë gazed down at her loom, concentrating on her duty. Her newest tapestry was nearly whole.

She reached down into the basket of threads she always carried with her, choosing a skein in the deep burgundy hue of her own dress. Finding the end of the strand, she drew out a length of thread and prepared to weave it into the tapestry. But something was wrong.

The Weaver stared at her selected skein in annoyance. The burgundy thread had become tangled with many others in a large multicolored knot. Sighing soundlessly, she pulled at several of the strands with her slender, nimble fingers, but they blatantly refused to come loose.

A thought suddenly came to her: this had never happened before. Why would it occur at a critical time such as this, unless there was something important behind it? Something that Eru had willed?

Vairë's golden eyes narrowed as she studied the threads that were involved. There were at least sixteen different colors, some more abundant than others. Much more, she noted, seeing that several black threads were concerned, compared to only a few varying shades of many other colors.

There was one strand each of silver, blue-green, copper, scarlet, pale grey, dark violet, burgundy, lavender, pale rose and beige; blue and green appeared twice, in dark and light hues, and there were two white strands as well. The black threads counted sixteen overall. As she watched them, the grey thread slowly slipped away from the tangle, falling to the floor without a sound.

Vairë shivered, knowing what it all meant in an instant. It confirmed what had just taken place, and also gave her valuable information. Each colored thread represented a Vala or Valië; she gazed down at each as she recited their names and colors to herself. _Manwë: pale blue. Varda: silver. Ulmo: blue-green. Yavanna: pale green. Aulë: copper. Nienna: dark blue. Oromë: red. Estë: lavender. Námo: dark violet. Myself: burgundy. Irmo: pale grey. Vána: pale rose. Tulkas: beige. Nessa: dark green._

Then she frowned at the other threads. Two white, sixteen black. No… only one white, she corrected herself, seeing that what had at first looked like two strands was a single one, cleverly knotted. Just like Elrond's two bodies; they were seemingly separate, but in truth, deeply connected. And the sixteen black strands…

Another shudder coursed through her, and she shut her eyes for a moment. It couldn't be.

Slowly she lifted her gaze to look into her husband's eyes. Mandos merely nodded once, confirming her fears.

_But which of us shall tell him?_ she asked.

_I will,_ the Doomsman replied. _It is my bitter duty._

Vairë noticed the use of the word "bitter", but did not comment. _Very well._

Mandos sent out to Manwë again: _There is something you must know about Morgoth's plans._

_Doubtless there is much I must know. Go on._

Mandos softly explained the situation to him. When he was finished, the Wind-lord shut his eyes, bowing his head. _Is there nothing we can do?_

_Nothing,_ the Doomsman replied, _but allow Eru's will to unfold._


	31. Fourteen Guardians

**Chapter Thirty: Fourteen Guardians**

Manwë nodded. _Very well. I shall speak._

He turned his head this way and that, meeting the anxious eyes of everyone in the room. When he was satisfied that all eyes were upon him, the Wind-lord spoke to his comrades in a clear voice.

"The hour grows dark," he said grimly. "Indeed, it is much darker than many of us could imagine or expect." He glanced briefly at Mandos with those words. "Nonetheless, we all are gathered here so that this darkness may be combated. To do this, we must know how our enemy will strike. This I have learned only now."

Elrond's mouth went dry, and his palms were damp with the sweat of dread. He hung on Manwë's every word, even those he knew he would forever wish he had never heard.

"Morgoth," the Vala continued, "will indeed strike again… and again… and again. His memory will undoubtedly haunt Elrond's mind and heart for the rest of his life, although his evil will only reveal itself a select number of times throughout the next ages. I know this number."

"What is it?" Elrond couldn't keep from whispering.

Manwë's blue eyes bored into the elf's. "As many as my kindred numbered in days that are now legend."

Elrond tried to remember all of the stories he had heard and read, thinking of the Valar. The number leapt out at him from a corner, bursting onto his tongue, which seemed very reluctant to release it. His voice emerged from his lips in only the barest of murmurs.

"_Fifteen,_" he breathed. And including the attack that had just occurred, it added up to his unlucky number, sixteen.

"Oh, Eru," Elwing whispered, closing her eyes.

"Yes," Manwë nodded, gazing down at Elrond. "That is the number of times you will be subject to Morgoth's assault… fifteen times, in over six millennia."

The elf's heart fluttered in his chest as a barrage of mixed emotions flooded his mind and spirit. Maybe it wasn't quite as horrible as he had expected… the attacks would have to be spaced out, wouldn't they? Morgoth wouldn't assail him fifteen times in a row, would he?

Manwë seemed to read his mind, and nodded again. "Indeed, Morgoth will not attack you again immediately. His first assault harmed him as well, in no small way."

Elrond nodded, feeling his knees weaken in relief, and was very glad he was sitting down already. But there were still questions burning in his mind. Surely Morgoth knew enough not to attack in an even pattern, making his power unpredictable. And he had servants… wouldn't he send them out to him, instead of risking damage to himself by using his own power?

_Yes,_ _and_ _yes,_ said a voice in his head. Mandos was staring right at Elrond, nodding as he spoke into his mind.

_Morgoth will indeed enlist the aid of his minions at some times, but for the most part, he himself will be the one you must face._

_But_ _I_ _know_ _almost_ _nothing_ _about_ _him,_ said Elrond despairingly.

_How quickly your memory lapses, Elrond! **I** know these things. I can tell you everything you need to know, and I will. But not at the moment._

Elrond sighed and nodded meekly. He knew better than to argue. This was too important.

Manwë cleared his throat, apparently preparing to speak again. The two friends turned to look up at him, and he gazed coolly at them before addressing everyone.

"We now know what will transpire through the next ages, but in no great detail. Each one of us will have to exercise the utmost caution in time to come. Little is known now of the exact reason for Morgoth's sudden intense concentration upon Elrond."

There was yet another shudder in the circle of Valar, but no-one spoke. Mandos shifted in his seat, but remained mute for the moment. The absolute silence that now hung about the room was like a heavy, muffling curtain; despite this, Vairë's loom began clicking once again. It was much faster than before, but the sound resonated hollowly in the stillness.

It was now well past sundown, but the room was filled with light; it appeared to emanate from the very being of Varda. The Star-queen's eyes were upon the Doomsman, whom she had noticed squirming in well-concealed anxiety. She quietly focused her keen ears, listening to his troubled thoughts, hearing and lamenting the anguished murmurings of his heart…

_They know nothing of what is to come. Only I know what Eru has decided. Ah, if only I could reveal it…but I cannot, until Eru orders me to do so. Who could guess that the gift of knowledge was a curse, as much as mindlessness? If only I could do more to bring this mystery to light… to help Elrond…Only Eru knows how I pity him, and more._

At this point Varda tried to ignore Mandos' distressed voice. But the echoes kept coming, like waves over the sea, endlessly lapping at the sandy shore that was her mind. Námo, the Doomsman of the Valar, felt pity for Elrond. No, no… it was surely much more than pity. It was authentic affection; love, perhaps. Not the sort of love that united a husband and wife. This had to be more of a brotherly fondness. Even so, it was startling.

Mandos suddenly turned to her, his eyes sparking. _Did_ _it_ _never_ _occur_ _to_ _you_ _to_ **_ask_** _what_ _I_ _am_ _feeling,_ _rather_ _than_ _intruding_ _upon_ _my_ _thoughts?_

_I am sorry,_ Varda apologized humbly. _I was only trying to help you._

The Doomsman sighed quietly, seeming to grow a little smaller as his shoulders slumped. _I know. But you cannot hope to help me. You cannot possibly comprehend what secrets lie buried in my heart… even those I have unwittingly revealed to you,_ he added, with an increased note of displeasure.

_You do… feel for him, then?_ the Valië asked warily.

_If that is what you wish to call it. I have… grown rather close to him in these past five years. But he does not know._

_Will you ever tell him?_

_Perhaps someday,_ Mandos replied. _But not now. Too much is at stake._

Varda nodded, just as Manwë's voice rang out through the silence.

"Friends, our time is against us. We have but one choice: Elrond must be protected at all times. Each one of us…" he again stared around the room "…must be eternally vigilant. If we are to have any hope of keeping Morgoth at bay, we all must do our parts. Thus," he said, "it is my verdict that we all are to become Elrond's lifelong guardians. He must be watched day and night. And we must be ready to fight… should need arise."

In the following hush, each Vala and Valië nodded solemnly, making a silent vow. Even the ones who would usually have been most reluctant to engage in combat – Nienna and Estë, for example – were now hard-eyed and grim. Elrond glanced at his mother, seeing her, too, making the pledge with glistening tears in her eyes.

"So be it," said Manwë. "Our task begins immediately. This council is adjourned."

The Valar rose, and the Wind-lord snapped his fingers again. The fourteen thrones faded from sight, and the desk and chairs reappeared as the bed, whose pillows and blankets were suddenly spotless, zoomed back to its original position.

Elrond I glanced down at the soft sound of a yawn, seeing that his other half was close to dropping off to sleep in his mother's lap. Elwing smiled fondly and sadly down at Elrond II as she absently ruffled his hair, then looked up at Elrond I, her face becoming graver.

"Well," she said softly, "at least you won't have to face your fate alone."

The elf-lord sighed. "I wish I knew more about my fate. There are so many things I need to find out… so many questions that need answering."

"Such as?"

"Why I dreamt about my entire body unraveling, for one. What it meant."

"When did you dream of that?" Elwing asked.

"A few days before I found you here."

"I see." His mother still looked concerned and confused. "Well, that was a while ago."

"But it's likely very important," Elrond told her. "I'm not about to take it lightly."

Mandos fidgeted uncomfortably yet again. He knew full well that he mustn't say a word. But right now, keeping quiet about what he knew was proving to be the hardest feat in the world.

"Are you all right, Námo?" asked a voice to his right.

The Doomsman turned to look at Tulkas, who was frowning at him in concern. This was indeed odd for the Wrestler, who generally spent as much time laughing as Nienna did weeping.

Mandos nodded insincerely, glancing discreetly away. "I am fine."

But he was far from it. He alone knew exactly what the rest of Elrond's life would hold. Coupled with sorrow for his brother, this was a weighty burden. Emotion was indeed a curse for one who had barely experienced it in his past life, which constituted countless thousands of years. And now to be crushed by so many diverse feelings all at one time… Mandos was amazed his heart had not exploded by now.

"Manwë," said Estë quietly in the Wind-lord's ear, "perhaps Elrond should be allowed to rest for the remainder of the night. I am surely no substitute for Irmo, but I will do all that I can."

"Very well," Manwë agreed. "I believe it would be best if you would watch over him as well, at least until morning."

The Healer nodded, striding gracefully to the elf's bedside. Elrond realized her intention, and lay down, allowing her to lay a cool, smooth hand on his forehead as the perfume of lavender flooded his nostrils.

The elf felt instantly soothed, and he soon became dimly aware that the Valië was singing to him, a lullaby he thought he recognized. The melody blocked out everything else; he let himself lift upon the sweet notes and slip away from his worries.

"Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight  
With lilies o'er spread is your feather bed  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blest  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blest."

Now a second tender voice sang, which the elf didn't realize until later was his mother's:

"Lullaby and goodnight, your mother's delight  
The Valar beside my darling abide  
They will guard you at rest, you shall wake on my breast  
They will guard you at rest, you shall wake on my breast."

Elwing and Estë sighed gratefully as Elrond descended into a calm sleep, untroubled by visions. Elwing leaned forward, gently kissing both the adult and child on the cheek.

"Sleep well," she whispered. "Sleep while you can."


	32. The Truth

**Chapter Thirty-One: The Truth**

Manwë moved swiftly to Elrond's bedside, carefully picking up the makeshift chessboard from where it rested, delicately balanced upon the elf's knees. The Wind-lord carried the parchment over to Elrond's desk, holding it level so as not to disturb any of the miniature people upon it.

The Vala seated himself and studied the game. Morgoth's small likeness was still leering in victory, while the diminutive Valar and Elrond hung their heads in sorrow. Lórien's image stood where he was, not seeming to have moved since his dismissal. As the real Manwë stared sadly down, the Dream-lord's replica gazed up at him, an utterly distraught look on his face.

"Forgive me," the Wind-lord whispered, laying his hand flat, palm-up on the desktop. "I know this is difficult for you, just as it is for him. If there was some other path we might take, I would gladly…"

The tiny figure of Lórien nodded, stepping forward onto Manwë's outstretched palm. The golden-haired Vala lifted his hand to eye level, gazing deeply into the mini-Dream-lord's eyes, smaller than pinheads, which were now weeping microscopic tears.

Lórien's image slowly pulled a minute handkerchief out of his small robe, drying his face with it. Then he turned his head to where Elrond lay sleeping, still watched over dutifully by Estë and Elwing. He glanced quizzically up at Manwë, who looked in that direction as well.

"Perhaps," he said softly. "I doubt that it would do much good, but it cannot likely cause harm… We can try."

Manwë cautiously cupped his hand a little, walking slowly toward the elf's bed, with the likeness of Lórien leaning against his fingers to stay steady. The Wind-lord lowered his hand slowly to Elrond I's shoulder, onto which the Dream-lord's small figure fairly leapt. Manwë, Estë and Elwing watched him half-slide down the elf's collarbone and traverse his neck, carefully ascend his jaw via a strand of his hair, and step out onto his left cheek. Elrond didn't react.

Little Lórien turned sadly back to Manwë and clambered off of the elf's face. The Wind-lord sighed. What had he been expecting? More fire, more blood? Perhaps. But now that that was proven false, his fears were relieved… for the moment. He gave the small figure of the Dream-lord a faint, reassuring smile.

"Give him time," he said gently. "Wait until morning. For now, let him rest."

The miniscule Vala nodded soundlessly, making himself comfortable on the elf's pillow. He could wait.

----

Elrond awoke in the morning to the sound of birdsong outside his window. Pale sunlight streamed down through the glass, bathing his face with a warm golden radiance. Sitting up, the elf smiled as he spotted his mother seated at his side, just as she had been when he had first fallen asleep. Glancing a little to the left of her, the elf-lord bowed his head in respect to Mandos, who had apparently taken Estë's place sometime in the night.

Elrond glanced down abruptly at a rustling noise beneath him, accompanied by a tickling sensation on his arm, almost akin to the touch of an insect's feet. Yet this was no insect but a replica of Lórien, not even two inches in height, and impeccably detailed. He knew instantly that it was the image that Manwë had conjured from his chessboard diagram the previous day.

A smile pulled at the elf's mouth as he watched the tiny Vala stride toward his elbow and climb up to his shoulder. Two infinitesimal blue eyes met his, and Elrond, strangely, felt tears spring up in his own.

"This is…" he began, and found he had no words to say. He merely stared at little Lórien in silence, trying to organize his emotions. This was a replica of a dear friend; a reminder of a deep loss that had devastated a strong bond.

_I understand perfectly,_ a voice murmured in his mind.

The elf looked up, bowing his head to Manwë, who now stood at the foot of his bed. The Wind-lord wore an expression of deep sadness.

_I guessed that it might turn out thus,_ he sighed. _Is joy destined to be overwhelmed by sorrow forever?_

_It's not that, sire,_ Elrond insisted. _This is certainly the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. It's just…_ He faltered.

_You miss him terribly,_ Manwë finished for him. _As he misses you._

The elf nodded. _I do miss him. He was like a brother to me… the older brother I never had._

Mandos shifted a little, quickly quelling the emotions that surged and seethed within him. Like a brother. That was exactly how he felt about Elrond. _Exactly._

He sighed soundlessly. He could not tell him yet. But there were other things that needed to be revealed to Elrond… by he himself.

The Doomsman laid a hand on the elf's shoulder, causing him to turn and bow his head. Mandos spoke clearly and firmly into Elrond's mind: _In time you must tell yourself of your heritage._

_How much time? _Elrond asked.

_Wait until you are sixteen; then you will be old enough to comprehend._

_Sixteen? _the elf repeated, a faint tremor entering his voice. His unlucky number, again.

_Yes, _Mandos confirmed grimly. _Sixteen. You have eleven years._

_----_

Elrond's fears only slightly diminished over the next eleven years. Even with the promise of the Valar's protection, the elf frequently caught himself glancing over his shoulder. But each time his worries were assuaged by a chuckle in his ear, the slight iridescence of a shadow, or a breeze scented with sweet lavender. Morgoth didn't reveal himself again at all, and the elf was never sure whether to be glad or anxious about it.

"Fear not," Tulkas said confidently. "Morgoth is likely 'licking his wounds', so to speak; he will not dare show his face again soon."

"That's what concerns me," the elf replied. "I don't know exactly what Morgoth is doing. He could be regrouping, gathering his strength for another attack, which could happen at any moment…"

"You are forgetting," said a deep voice, "that Morgoth is incredibly afraid of Tulkas. He would never dare show his face in his presence."

Elrond bowed courteously to the newcomer. "Good morning, Lord Mandos."

Mandos nodded. "Good morning, Elrond. How are you?"

"Well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Satisfactory," he said aloud. Then he sent a thought: _Today is the day you must reveal the truth to yourself. This is the hour. Go._

Elrond politely excused himself, and set out to find his other half.

----

"Elrond, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Elrond II glanced up at Elrond I's voice. The older elf's face was quietly insistent. The teenager nodded, glancing back at Elros, who was deep in conversation with Gil-galad. The younger twin met his brother's eye and rose, thinking it was a summons, but Elrond I shook his head. "Alone, please, Elrond. Come with me."

Shrugging, the youth followed his godfather down a corridor, into the elf-lord's bedroom. Elrond II sat down on the bed, waiting for Elrond I to shut the chamber door tightly and have a seat next to him.

"What's this about?" the teen asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

"Something I have wanted to tell you for years, but have only been allowed to today," his godfather replied. "It concerns you and I, as well as the Valar."

"The Valar?" Elrond II frowned. "Why would they be concerned about us? And why are you _staring_ at me like that?" he demanded, jumping up and glaring straight into Elrond I's eyes, the exact shade of his own.

The elf-lord shook his head, sighing. "I can't remember having such a strange temper in my life. I suppose that just goes to show how much I'd forgotten."

"What in Arda are you talking about?"

"That, Elrond, is a very long and complicated tale beginning before you were born. But at this point I am ordered to relate it to you in full, bar nothing. And just in case you were wondering," he added, sternly meeting his own doubtful stare, "the one who decreed this was Lord Mandos himself."

The teen fell silent for a while, frowning. "This is about what happened eleven years ago, isn't it? When I felt the fire and blood, and there was some sort of council."

Elrond I nodded solemnly. "I didn't think you'd remember it; after all, you were only five when that happened. But, then again," he added to himself, "who could forget something like that?"

"It's not like I remember all of it," the youth retorted. "Just parts of it, like how I turned ink into ice. How did I do that, anyway?"

"Don't you remember what Lady Varda told you that night?" asked his godfather softly. "She said that your ability was a gift derived directly from Eru, and that it was to be kept a complete secret, except from myself and your mother."

Elrond II nodded in slow recollection. "That's right… hang on – that was Lady Varda?"

"Indeed it was. And the others were the rest of the Valar."

The teenager frowned. "I only remember seeing thirteen of them… aren't there fourteen Valar?"

"Yes," said the older elf, in a much quieter voice. "Yes, there are."

"Then why weren't they all there?"

"They were, for a time," Elrond I answered with difficulty. "But Lord Lórien had to leave in the middle of the council. Lord Manwë dismissed him."

"Why would he do that?" the youth wondered.

"Because of the… incident… which stirred the council. Lord Lórien was affected by the fire as well, and although he was appointed to be your and my guardian long ago, there was too much of a risk of something like that happening again. So he was told to leave, and to never again contact your or I from that point on."

"Why me?" Elrond II inquired.

Elrond I smiled rather oddly. "That is where my story begins, on a rainy autumn night…"

He launched into the tale. No detail was unspoken, nor were thoughts unrevealed. Every second of his life, from that fateful morning in Sirion up to the present, Elrond I recalled with the finest discretion; Eärendil's departure, the sack of Sirion, and all the time they had spent in the household of Maedhros and Maglor were described impeccably. Dreams, wishes and worries were laid bare, and all the while Elrond II was silent.

When the elf-lord arrived at the first encounter with Morgoth, he forced himself to speak on in spite of his pain. Everything was remembered, down to the look of sorrow and pain in Lórien's eyes, just before he had departed. The chessboard, the ice in the inkwell, and all that Elrond had seen and heard, he repeated again.

In a pause that allowed Elrond I some breath, the teenager spoke at last.

"So… why exactly did this all happen to both of us, at the exact same time?"

Elrond I's eyes became deep and grave. The truth was at hand.

"Because," he said, in a voice that quietly demanded complete attention, "we two are the same person, you and I. One soul in two bodies. And Morgoth has been trying to reach us since before the beginning. That is the reason for my depression – it was the Dark Lord's power. I was sent back in time to save my life – _your_ life."

The youth's eyes widened in disbelief. "I'm _you?_"

"And I am you," Elrond I nodded. "We are like the two sides of a coin; very different in appearance, but our spirit is one. One day you'll grow up and find yourself in my boots… no pun intended."

"We're the same person," Elrond II repeated slowly, as though trying to reassure himself that those words had truly been spoken before. "We're both Elrond."

"Yes."

"Does anyone besides Mother know?" the teen asked.

"No-one except for Father, and the Valar," the elf-lord assured him. "Our secret is safe."

Elrond II frowned suddenly. "You keep saying 'we' all the time. Shouldn't there be just a 'me'?"

"I suppose so," Elrond I agreed. "But no-one knows about this, remember? They all think we really are, well, a 'we'. But yes, in truth, there is only 'me'. And that's us."

Elrond II had another question: "What will happen once we – I – once time goes back to where this all started?"

"I don't know," the elf-lord sighed. "Maybe we'll stay like this. Maybe we'll become one person in one body. Only Eru knows."

"And Lord Mandos," the youth reminded him.

His godfather nodded. "And Lord Mandos."


	33. Fraternal Bonds

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Fraternal Bonds**

"So," said Elrond II, after a short pause, "if you're me, then you must have lived this life before, right?"

"In the most basic sense, yes," Elrond I replied. "But Lord Mandos himself told me that this life would be very different. Things have been changing since the day I – or rather, you – were born."

"How?"

"Well," the older elf reminisced, his eyes going slightly out of focus, "Lords Mandos and Lórien didn't attend your birthday party last time, for one thing. Second, Eärendil left two years earlier than he did this time. Maedhros and Maglor's fates were very different; last time, Maedhros slew himself by jumping into a fiery pit, and Maglor exiled himself from all elven realms."

"Did Mother come back last time?" the youth asked, his eyes shining.

"She was resurrected, if that's what you mean," Elrond I replied, "but she didn't return to Arda. She lived in a tower by the sea in Valinor, and sometimes she flew with Eärendil."

"And… did _this_ happen last time? Did Morgoth try to attack you like this?"

Elrond I shook his head. "No. This is the most different thing about our lives. I know the very least of what will happen – battles you'll win, friends you'll make, whom you'll wed and so on – but I haven't a clue what Morgoth will do next."

There was a period of uncomfortable silence before the elf-lord spoke again. "About your gift, Elrond… have you been controlling it?"

"It hasn't shown itself," Elrond II shrugged. "Not since the council."

"So you haven't told anyone?"

"Who would believe me?"

"Some people would," said Elrond I, lowering his voice. "Some people would pass that information on to others. Those others would—"

He broke off and rose to his feet as Mandos swirled into view before them, an expectant look on his bloodless face. The Vala spoke only one word: "Well?"

"It is done, sire," Elrond I replied, bowing and indicating that Elrond II do the same.

Mandos fixed the elf with his gaze. "Now it is time for you to make the Choice."

Elrond I nodded. He remembered the Choice; the decision that had shaped his destiny. The Choice to live as an elf or as a human was only granted to the descendants of Beren and Lúthien, the first wedded human and elf. Well, half-elf, technically, for Lúthien was herself half a Maia. Her mother had been Melian, a handmaiden of Vána and Estë, who had dwelt in Valinor in the gardens of Lórien.

The elf came slowly back to reality, hearing his other half ask, "Excuse me, sire, but what is the Choice?"

"You have a crucial decision to make," said the Vala. "It will ultimately alter your life for ever. You are of both human and elven descent; the blood of both runs in your veins. But you cannot live with a foot in either world.

"You must decide whether you wish to have the immortal life of an elf, or the mortal life of a human. And," he added, "once you speak your verdict, there will be no turning back whatsoever. So choose wisely."

Elrond II was silent for a short while, staring at his knees. At length he looked up again at Mandos, saying carefully, "If everything I've just been told is true, which I trust it is, then hasn't my choice been made for me? I'm an elf."

A rare smile curved the Doomsman's thin lips. "Very good. You are correct – the Choice has been made for you. You have immortal life."

There was silence, in which both Elrond I and II were lost in thought. The teen continued to digest the news of his destiny while the elf-lord, reaching up to investigate an itch on his neck, found little Lórien perched on his shoulder. Smiling, he lowered his hand to the bed and allowed the tiny Dream-lord to stroll down his arm.

Elrond II stared at the small figure in much the same way as a young kitten would stare at a newly-discovered insect. His eyes were wide with fascination as he let Lórien's replica ascend his arm, and he nodded his head politely when the Vala did the same to him.

Mandos' small smile never wavered, though its cause had changed abruptly. Oh, how he loved it when Elrond was happy.

Elrond II's eyes suddenly saddened, and he looked up to meet the Doomsman's gaze. He had one more inquiry: "What about Elros, sir?"

"Your brother has already decided his fate," Mandos said softly. "He chose to be counted as a human."

"Oh," the young elf murmured, looking down again. "I see."

The Vala sighed silently when he saw the tears of pain in Elrond II's eyes, but knew that he could do nothing. It was Eru's will.

Oh, the burden of knowledge…

----

Elrond I crawled slowly into bed that night, his movements languid. He sighed quietly for what must have been the millionth time as his gaze roved over the chair at his bedside – Lórien's chair – which stood sad and empty in the moonlight.

The elf fought back tears at the barrage of memories that instantly began to torment him, as they did every evening, He shut his eyes tight, turning away from the chair and curling his body into a tight ball. But he relaxed a little as a hand found his shoulder, and a voice murmured gently in his ear.

"Elrond?"

He looked up, meeting the soft, compassionate eyes of Nienna. The deep indigo circles of her irises blended with the pupils, creating an illusion of utter blackness. Their darkness contrasted with her pale face as they glistened with tears in the moonlight.

From this close, Elrond could clearly see that the skin around her eyes was tinged scarlet, but that only added to her beauty. She spoke to him again, in a voice quiet and sorrowful, which reminded the elf of a rippling lake.

"It pains me to see you in grief," she whispered sadly, as tears crept down her face like dewdrops on lily petals. "I know how you feel for Irmo, and I know that he feels the same way for you. He asked me to give you these… I assumed that you would know what they are."

From her dress she drew her closed hand, and held it forth as she uncurled her fingers. In her palm lay two small objects. One was a faceted sapphire about the size of a marble, and the other was a folded scrap of parchment that looked charred around the edges.

Elrond accepted them warily, feeling his heartbeat quicken. He knew what at least one of them was. The sapphire was from Vilya, but how it had become separated from the band, he didn't know. And he had a strong suspicion of what the parchment was.

He carefully unfolded the delicate object, and his hunch was immediately confirmed as he read what was written there. Some of the words were partially obscured or burnt away, but it was still fairly legible.

_always remember you – both as the child I loved and cared for, and the lord I called my friend. Both sides of you have a place in my heart, and indeed they are the same. _

_I will forever love you; the ends of the earth cannot separate us. We are joined in heart, blood and mind. Remember that, if nothing else. **I love you.**_

The elf had broken down to tears before he finished reading. It was his father's letter – or what was left of it. He had thought it had been totally destroyed, along with Vilya. Lórien must have gone back to the ruins of Sirion to get these things for him.

"Is something wrong?" the Valië asked in concern.

Elrond shook his head, smiling through his tears. "No, my lady. It's just that… this once was part of a letter, that was the last thing my father ever gave to me before he left Sirion. I've believed ever since that Lord Lórien influenced him into writing it."

Nienna nodded. "I see. I shall indeed tell Irmo of this when next I see him."

"Thank you, my lady," the elf smiled.

"You are most welcome," she replied gently.

----

"Good morning, Elrond."

"Good morning, Elrond. How am I?"

"You're fine. How am I?"

"Very well."

"Good for us."

Elrond I and II both laughed. Conversations like these had become a frequent occurrence in the past few years. It wasn't uncommon to hear them asking each other questions about themselves, or speaking to each other in plurals. Many of the elves who heard it simply laughed and walked on, dismissing the strange banter as harmless fun. That was all the better for Elrond.

"We really should stop talking like this, you know," Elrond I informed his other half at breakfast one morning. "People might start to wonder about us."

"They won't," Elrond II protested. "They think it's funny. They don't pay attention."

Elrond I frowned slightly, but was distracted by approaching footsteps. He straightened up in his seat, calling, "Good morning, Elros!"

Elrond's twin smiled and nodded as he took a seat next to his godfather. "Good morning, Godfather, Did you sleep well?"

"Very well," the elf-lord replied. "And yourself?"

"Fine."

Elrond II grinned over at his brother. "Morning, El!"

"Morning, Ron."

Elrond I chuckled to himself. In contrast with his brother, Elros had insisted on using the nickname "El", the reason being that "'Ros" sounded too much like "Rose", and was as a result too feminine for him. Elrond II still used the less-desired name at times, to bother his sibling for fun.

The elf-lord sighed affectionately. Even at twenty-five, which admittedly was very young for both elves and humans, he and his brother still managed to behave like a pair of ten-year-olds.

_Just how my sons will eventually,_ he thought. _Youth at heart seems to run in the family. More likely than not because Father married so young…_

His lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. He would have to make the most of his next years with Elros. Soon his younger twin would be gone forever.

----

"You're leaving?" cried Elrond II, incredulous.

"Yes, Ron. I'm going over the Sea. I just feel like my destiny is waiting for me there. I can't really explain it very well. The Sea is calling to me, just like it did to Father. Has it ever done that to you?"

"No," Elrond II replied truthfully. "I'm happy right here on dry land. But then, you were always more like Father. The Sea's in your blood."

"Yes. But I'll always miss you."

"So will I. We'll keep in touch, won't we, El?"

"Of course we will," Elros replied, holding his brother close. "I'll write to you every day if I can."

"And I'll write back twice a day," the older twin added. Then he stared into his brother's face. "When are you going?"

"In a week. Cirdan has a ship ready for my people and I to sail; we just need to load them up with supplies. Then…"

"Westward bound," Elrond II finished sadly.

"Yes."

"I love you, El."

"I love you, too, Ron." Elros smiled tearfully.

"When will you forget me?" Elrond II asked.

"When I turn into a rooster and fly across the world from one end to the other."

"Be sure to lay an egg on top of the highest mountain."

"I'll lay four. One for you, one for Mother, one for Father, and one for Godfather."

"Done."


	34. Triangle

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Triangle**

The sun beamed down on the lone figure standing on the west-facing balcony above the lawns of Mithlond. His dark hair and robe shimmered faintly, giving the impression of an overgrown raven. His skin, in contrast, was extremely pale, almost translucent. His long-fingered hands curled loosely around the balcony railing as he stared down at the goings-on below.

Elves called out cheerful greetings to one another in various tongues, every one of which he understood. Young children shrieked with laughter, rushing and tumbling about on the grass, while teens strolled calmly around them in tight-knit clusters. Young adults, barely of age, lounged in the welcoming shade of some stately oaks and sipped their first goblets of wine. Their chatter was mingled with the sweet melody of a skillfully-played harp.

Mandos sighed, his downcast eyes silently hooding over. The wind riffled gently through his iridescent locks and swept them up into his face, but the Vala made no move to push them back. He turned away in a fluid motion that sent his robes billowing out behind him, and strode briskly back into the main building. He sent out a thought as he walked.

_Elrond, I wish to speak with you. Meet me in the Great Hall. Immediately._

----

"You wanted to see me, sire?"

The Doomsman nodded as the elf-lord approached him. "Gil-galad is growing suspicious of you, and of my kin. We cannot keep ourselves a secret for much longer. You must tell him everything, and you must do it now."

Elrond I nodded, bowing and stepping toward the door. "Of course, my lord. I'll look for him immediately."

"He is in the west gardens," Mandos called after him.

"Thank you, sire," Elrond replied over his shoulder as he hurried out the door.

----

Gil-galad sipped casually at his goblet of wine, smiling quietly to himself. It was a good day to be alive. The spring air held warm hints of approaching summer, his people were happy and carefree, and his realm was safe. Nothing would spoil his good mood.

"King Gil-galad?" called a voice.

"Yes?" said the King, rising to greet the approaching elf. "Good morning, Lord Elrond."

"Good morning, sire," the half-elf replied, bowing low. "I wonder whether I could have a private word with you, right now, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course," Gil-galad acquiesced. "Is there a problem?"

"Not as such, sire. But this is important."

The King nodded, following his comrade into the haven and down several long corridors, toward Elrond's bedchamber. Both elves smiled politely as Elrond II walked up to them; Gil-galad's look was bittersweet. Eärendil's son had never been quite the same since his brother's departure. That was months ago now.

The elves exchanged greetings, and Elrond I nodded silently to his godson. The younger elf shot him a look of puzzlement, which the elder dismissed with a lowered eyebrow. They both turned to Gil-galad, and Elrond I beckoned him forward into his bedroom.

"What is it you wished to see me about?" the King asked, as the elf-lord closed the door and pulled the curtains down over the window.

"Something that has only been told to three people," said Elrond I softly. "Lord Mandos has ordered me to tell you our deepest secret." The elf indicated himself and his godson as he spoke.

"What secret?"

"You had better sit down, sire," Elrond II advised, gesturing to the bed. "It's a very long story."

----

Mandos aimlessly strode the corridors of Mithlond, wondering why he did so with every step. It was no effort to shed his body and move invisibly, and yet he chose to use his feet more and more often.

He sped up his pace slightly when a familiar ticking sound, steady as a heartbeat, met his ears. It was a sound he heard every day in his halls; Vairë operating her loom. She must be nearby.

The Doomsman soon spotted his wife seated on a bench around the corner, her loom set up before her and a basket of threads at her elbow. Her reddish hair was once again tied back with a white ribbon, and her head was bent over her work. The Weaver didn't look up until he was at her side.

"Good morning, Námo," she greeted him softly with a smile. But it soon faded when she saw the look on her husband's face.

"What is it?" she inquired. "Is something amiss?"

"It is nothing," he told her, rather curtly.

Vairë's golden eyes narrowed in confusion. "I doubt it is nothing. You seem troubled."

"I am fine," he insisted.

But he knew he wasn't. A horrible foreknowledge had been nagging at Mandos' mind for days. He knew it was his duty, and yet it pained him to think of it… the fateful day was drawing nearer with every second…

"Námo," said Vairë's voice, breaking into his thoughts, "please tell me what is troubling you."

"Very well," he sighed. There was no sense in hiding it anymore. "I am dreading the day when Elros will finally come to my halls. The news will break Elrond's heart."

"And you worry about this?"

Mandos paused for a moment. "Yes," he finally admitted, reluctantly.

"That is… most unlike you."

"You need not tell me."

"But…" The Weaver's voice now held concern. "You have never felt for anyone in this way before. He might not return your affections."

"Elrond feels for Irmo in the same way that I feel for him. A triangle is developing."

"A loving triangle?" Vairë wondered.

"A fraternal one."

Vairë was silent as she considered this. Námo felt for Elrond, who felt for Irmo, who felt for Námo. But did it run both ways?

"Elrond and Irmo share affection," Mandos answered, "as do Irmo and I. But Elrond does not know of my feelings, and thus cannot easily return them."

She nodded. "I see."

Mandos glanced down at his wife's tapestry: a half-finished illustration of Elrond I and II informing Gil-galad of their unusual heritage. He nodded in satisfaction, noticing the tiny image of Lórien perched upon Elrond I's shoulder.

"Now you know, Ereinion," he murmured, gazing into the woven face of the King. "You alone know… and it must stay thus."

Vairë looked up at him, but the Doomsman turned and swept away without another word, leaving them both to their thoughts.

----

"A long tale, indeed," said Gil-galad pensively. He stood facing Elrond I and II, who had finished relating their story to him. Two grey eyes held four blue ones in a silent gridlock as the King digested these new revelations.

"Do you swear not to tell anyone?" Elrond I asked. "Not another living creature."

"You have my word as a King," Gil-galad replied solemnly.

The elf-lord shared a sideways glance with himself, who nodded. "Very well."

"Is that all you wish to tell me?" inquired the King.

Elrond II nodded. "Yes, sire."

"My lords," a shy female voice interrupted, "I have a letter for Lord Elrond the Second."

Elrond II strode forward, taking the message from the servant's hand; the elleth bowed to him and scurried away. The elf carefully opened the sealed scroll and unrolled it as his godfather moved to his side, reading it over his shoulder:

_Dear Elrond:_

_I realize that this is my second letter in as many days, but I thought it was best to inform you immediately that today we have reached the isle of Númenor. (Besides which, we're brothers. I should be contacting you often, at least every other day.) How is everything in Mithlond? I hope you're well, and Mother and Godfather as well. Send them my love. I miss you all so much it hurts. _

_On the upside, my people are all safe and sound. The island is plentiful, from what we've seen; Talvon has been scouting the terrain, and his news is good. There is an abundance of streams and rivers, and forests with trees perfect for building. The soil is also excellent for farming._

_But enough of my ramblings. I want to know everything that's happened since I received your last letter. I could almost see everything you wrote last time, as if I had been at your side. And don't leave anything out – I can tell when you've been doing that. _

_All my love,  
__Elros_

_PS: No sign of feathers yet!_

"'No sign of feathers'?" Gil-galad repeated, frowning; it seemed he had been reading the letter as well.

Elrond II laughed. "It's a joke we shared. We'd both try to invent the most impossible of situations, and apply them to our lives. In this case, Elros told me that he'd only forget me when he turned into a rooster and flew across the world. And he says he hasn't begun to grow feathers yet."

"I see," the King smiled.

Elrond II nodded, rolling the message up again with a smile and a sigh.

"Where's Mother? I should give her this."

"I think I saw her in the dining hall," Elrond I informed him.

"Thanks."

Bowing to the King, he excused himself and hurried away.

As the door clicked softly shut, Elrond I turned to Gil-galad, sighing, "It hasn't been the same around here since Elros left. I knew it would happen eventually, but it doesn't make it any easier. We're twins… it's almost like we're the same person in two bodies."

"Rather like you and your other half?"

"Sort of. When you're that close to a person for so long, you become part of each other. I know Elros and I are no exception. We could just about read each other's minds. And now that he's gone, I feel like a part of me is missing. But, then again," he added quietly, "a part of me has always been missing." _Father,_ he said silently.

Gil-galad laid a kind hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you truly love them, they'll never leave you."

Elrond I nodded sadly, turning his head to look over at his other shoulder, on which little Lórien stood in silence. The minuscule Vala gave him a tiny smile, which the elf returned with tears in his eyes.

"You're right, sire," he said, looking back at the King. "They'll always be with me."

----

"Lord Mandos?" Elrond I called, hurrying down the corridor after the Doomsman.

"Yes?" The Vala turned, nodding as his comrade bowed.

"I've spoken with King Gil-galad," the elf informed him. "He now knows nearly as much about me as I do."

"Good. Though you needn't have come to tell me."

Elrond nodded. "Right. Because you already knew. How quickly my memory lapses."

Mandos frowned slightly at the phrase, which he had heard before only issuing from his own mouth. He sighed quietly, and then noticed that the elf was smiling.

"I don't blame you for knowing everything, sire," Elrond told him kindly. "It's what Eru gave you, like my ability to turn ink into ice. We can't choose our destinies."

The Doomsman nodded. "But yourgift extends far beyond ink. You will eventually be able to transform other things, in time. With practice."

"Things like what?" Elrond asked carefully.

"You will see. But you must learn to control your gift first. Beginning now."

The half-elf nodded. "Very well. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and look for myself."

"You are dismissed."


	35. Gifts and Grim Duties

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Gifts and Grim Duties**

"This is getting nowhere," Elrond II muttered, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times – you have to learn to control your gift!" cried Elrond I. "It's imperative to your destiny."

"So says Lord Mandos," the younger elf shot back, setting down the glass of wine he had been trying to turn into ice for the past half hour. "Why don't you do this for a change?"

"I'm not the one with the gift, Elrond. You are. Besides, I'm just as tired as you."

"You don't look it," Elrond II told him, rising from the desk and starting to pace about the room. "And why don't you have the gift? You're me, after all."

"Because this technically isn't _my_ life," Elrond I replied, moving in front of his other half and taking him by the shoulders. "I've already lived these years; now it's your turn."

"But you said that 'this life' would be different; therefore, you haven't lived 'these years' at all."

"That's entirely beside the point," said his godfather, more sharply this time. "I'm not the one who decides what's going to happen, and neither is Lord Mandos. It is Eru Himself."

Elrond II pulled away from himself and resumed his orbit of the room. Elrond I followed him with his eyes, saying, "Sit down. You're making me dizzy just watching you."

The younger elf ignored him, circling the chamber in a resigned silence. Elrond I sighed and remarked, "Self-rivalry will get us nowhere. How can we expect to get anything done if we can't even agree? We're going to have to compromise sometime."

Elrond II halted, turning and walking past himself to the desk he had just been seated at. He sank back into the chair, leaning his elbow against the back.

"So what do you think we should do?"

"Let's keep trying for a few minutes," Elrond I suggested. "How about five?"

"Make it three."

"Four?"

"Done."

"All right, then. Concentrate on what you want to do…"

Mandos stood unnoticed in the far corner of the room. He had long since shed his body to facilitate the process of observation. It wasn't spying, as might be thought, but protection. There were other Valar and Valier nearby, hovering in wait, just in case Morgoth decided to rear his ugly head.

The Doomsman watched Elrond II carefully as he shut his eyes in concentration, closing his fingers tightly around the wineglass again. He was going about it all the wrong way; his tension was what hindered his progress. The Vala sent a thought into the elf's mind: _Do not tauten your body so. Relax your muscles; let the energy flow smoothly._

Elrond II obediently loosened up, and a smile rose to his lips as he felt power tingling through his arms and into his hands. The wine immediately turned to ice, which expanded and cracked the glass. The sound made him open his eyes, and grin in triumph.

"_Very_ good," Elrond I complimented him. "I knew you had it in you."

_So did I,_ Mandos sent, smiling as he stepped into his body.

Both of Elrond's heads turned, and bowed respectfully.

"Good afternoon, sire," said Elrond II.

"Good afternoon, Elrond," the Vala replied politely, glancing at both Elrond I and II as he spoke. "I have been observing your progress; it is indeed remarkable."

"Many thanks, my lord," said Elrond II, a blush rising to his face. "But it wouldn't have been if you hadn't given me that essential piece of advice."

"I was merely giving you a slight push in the correct direction," Mandos informed him, a small smile playing about his lips. "You exerted your own efforts, and therefore it is your success."

The elf bowed his head modestly. The Doomsman tilted his head a little, saying, "Varda is calling to me. Farewell, for the moment."

He swirled effortlessly away, and Elrond I picked up the broken glass that was now filled with melting ice. "I suppose no-one will need this anymore."

"I suppose so," Elrond II agreed. "So what now?"

"A walk in the garden?" his godfather suggested.

"Why not?"

----

_Good afternoon, Námo._

The voice entered Mandos' head as he strode down a long, sunlit hall at a leisurely pace, his boots tapping on the stone floor. He nodded courteously in the direction of the nearest sunbeam, sending out a thought himself.

_Varda. You called?_

_Yes,_ the Valië replied, smoothly regaining her body before him. _I understand that you were with Elrond a moment ago._

_And?_ Mandos lifted a slender eyebrow.

_Have you told him of your affections yet?_ she asked him, her silvery eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

_It is too soon. One can only bear so much information at a time._

The Star-queen sighed in quiet impatience. _It has been twenty years, Námo._

_That is as a moment to the Eldar._

_How much longer will you wait? You do not have eternity._

Mandos sighed to himself, letting his gaze drop to his shiny black boots. _I know. But he has enough to worry about at the moment. I cannot tell him now._

_If you say so,_ Varda murmured. _But you must not wait too much longer._

The Doomsman nodded in silence.

----

"Elrond?" said Elrond II quietly.

"Yes?" Elrond I frowned down at himself. "What is it?"

"I've been having an odd feeling for a while now. I was talking to King Gil-galad earlier – before we started practicing, you know – and he was practicing using his spear. I don't know how or why, but I felt connected to it somehow. Do you think it's important?"

"I'm not sure," the older elf confessed. "What kind of connection was it? When exactly did it start?"

"It started when the King gave his spear to me to hold for a minute. I felt as though it was trying to speak to me… to tell me things."

"And? What did it say?"

"I couldn't really understand it. But I think I know why. I think it was because I had no control over my gift yet." Elrond II lowered his voice as he spoke the last sentence.

Elrond I gazed at himself in a sudden, strange understanding. "You mean your power had something to do with it?"

Elrond II nodded. "I think so. How else could it be?"

His godfather considered this for a long while. At length he spoke again, saying carefully, "Well, maybe this has something to do with something that's coming. Maybe Aiglos has a part to play."

"Aiglos?" the younger elf frowned. "Is that the spear's name?"

Elrond I nodded solemnly. "Yes. It means 'icicle'."

----

"Good afternoon, Elrond… and Elrond!"

"Afternoon, Maglor," Elrond I called in answer. He and his other half nodded politely to the dark-haired elf as he approached them. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine," the son of Fëanor smiled. "And yourselves?"

"We're both fine," Elrond I replied, sharing a glance with himself. Then the younger elf noticed the musical instrument that Maglor was carrying under his arm. "I never knew you played the harp."

"All my life," Maglor told him. "This isn't mine – King Gil-galad lent it to me for today."

"I'd like to hear you play it," said Elrond II earnestly.

"Very well," Fëanor's son nodded, carefully standing the instrument upright on the grass and dropping to his knees beside it. "I believe it's still in tune…" He ran his fingers along the strings, lovingly coaxing out a sweet string of notes.

"Good, good. Any requests?"

"How about the Tale of Tinúviel?" Elrond II asked.

"You'll have to give me the first few lines."

The half-elf cleared his throat and sang out in a fair tenor voice.

"_The leaves were long, the grass was green,  
__The hemlock-umbels tall and fair…_"

Maglor joined him with his voice and the harp, his voice rising to tenor as Elrond's sank down to baritone. The two of them wove a beautiful melody, and many passers-by paused to listen. Soon a ring of elves formed around the pair.

When the last notes shivered to silence, fervent applause echoed through the garden. The two minstrels bowed modestly, and smiled at each other.

"I never knew you were such a fair singer," Maglor told his friend.

"You're better," Elrond II blushed. "And you're a natural harper."

"A minstrel is only as good as his instrument, Elrond. I'll have to thank the King when I see him."

"Thank me for what?" said a voice from the back of the crowd.

The elves parted to give Gil-galad some space to walk; he strode smoothly up to Maglor and Elrond, who bowed their heads in respect.

"Many thanks for lending me your harp, sire," the son of Fëanor smiled.

"You are most welcome, Maglor," the King replied graciously. "And thank you both for providing us with such wonderful entertainment," he added, also glancing over at Elrond II as he spoke.

"It was nothing," they both said humbly, and in perfect unison. Noticing this, they looked at each other and shared a laugh.

Standing a short distance back from the rest of the crowd, Mandos sighed to himself as he listened to their conversation. Gil-galad, Maglor and Elrond were bonding like brothers. It was a bittersweet bond, however. All three of them faced enormous losses throughout their lives, and the Doomsman knew that that would only grow worse as time stretched on. He also knew that there was nothing he could do but let it happen.

----

The years paced on and on, in the unfailing way that they always did. Seasons turned, the sun rose and fell, and many things grew. Friendships strengthened, brotherly bonds were kept alive, and Mithlond prospered.

Yet deep in the center of all the cheer and gaiety, shadows were growing.

Mandos knew what was coming; there was no denying or ignoring the two inevitabilities. They were as certain as the turning of autumn to winter. He knew the what, where, when, why and how. And he knew who.

The Doomsman hurriedly shed his body and swooped through the city like a shimmering shadow. His duties were obvious and prioritized. Maybe he couldn't prevent what was to come, but he could at least do something about it.

_First things first,_ he thought. _Wait for me, Tar-Minyatur._


	36. Darkness and Despair

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Darkness and Despair**

Elrond II sighed quietly to himself as he rested his chin in his hand and sipped morosely from his goblet of rich, dark wine. His raven hair fluttered behind him in the cold breeze from his open window, snaring a few stray snowflakes.

The elf sighed again, a little louder this time, and rose from his desk to close the window. His gaze passed over the many long, sharp icicles hanging down on the other side of the windowpane, which glittered in the moonlight and cast specks of rainbow light over the walls of his bedroom. He shivered as a memory engrossed him…

_He saw it as if it had happened yesterday, even though it had been years ago. He stood in King Gil-galad's private chamber, watching the elf practice fighting his shadow, using Aiglos. His movements were perfectly fluid, flawless. A step, a stab, a leap back; a move as if to block an enemy's blow. The spear was like an extension of the King's own arm. _

_Then there came a timid rap at the door, and Gil-galad halted. An anxious servant stood on the threshold, requesting the King's immediate presence in the Great Hall. Gil-galad complied, tossing his spear deftly to Elrond, and asking him to put it away._

_The half-elf caught the weapon one-handedly, marveling quietly at the intricate design on the handle: strange, spiky shapes twined around and around, stretching up the shaft and glittering metallically. Was that real gold and silver?_

_His amazement increased tenfold when a clear voice rang out from the shaft, speaking to him in precise, sharp tones. Elrond nearly dropped the spear out of pure shock._

Greetings, Elrond the Second.

"_G- greetings," the elf stammered in reply, his eyes widening. _

_Something like a laugh reached his ears. _Ah, so you can comprehend me now. Good. I trust you know my name?

"_Yes," Elrond replied, still astounded. "Your name is Aiglos, or Icicle."_

In two tongues, yet! Excellent. Now that you can hear my voice, I have a message for you.

"_Go on," the half-elf bade him._

Listen carefully. Ereinion will not be my keeper for ever. One day my ownership shall pass to you. And it shall for good reason.

"_Why?"_

Because you and I share a strange bond. You shall need me in the final battle.

"_The final fight…against Morgoth?"_

Yes. Your power lies with ice, does it not?

_Elrond nodded. "It does. And your name is Icicle…that makes sense."_

Indeed, _Aiglos agreed. _And this shall become clearer in time. But we do not have that in abundance now. Put me away, quickly.

_The elf nodded, carefully placing the now-silent spear in its place, resting on two sturdy hooks mounted in the wall. And just in time, for the King returned not a moment later. He said nothing for a moment, but merely nodded, a small smile on his lips._

Elrond blinked, returning gradually to the present. He still stood before the open window, which was allowing chilly air to gust into his face. The half-elf shut the window hastily, brushing snow from his features with his sleeve as he sat down again. Now, where was he again?

Oh, yes… he had just been thinking about Elros. His dear little brother, whom he hadn't heard from in weeks. What was going on? He had promised to write as often as possible, and he had always been true to his word before.

But maybe it wasn't quite as bad as he thought, Elrond reasoned. Maybe Elros' duties as King of Númenor were piling up on him. Yes, that could have been it. It must be it.

"Elrond?"

The half-elf turned, smiling at the owner of the voice. "Good morning, Mother."

Elwing swept into the room, graceful as a swan. Her soft, lovely face wore an expression of quiet concern.

"Have you heard from Elros lately?" she asked, striding smoothly to her son's side.

"No," the half-elf replied in a murmur. "Not for weeks now."

Elwing sighed. "He's never gone this long without writing. Something must be wrong."

"Don't say that!" cried Elrond, jumping to his feet. "He could just be busy or something! He'll write soon, I know he will!"

His mother placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. "It's late, Elrond. We should both get to bed."

He nodded absently, moving away from her and climbing into bed. Though he was nearly five hundred years old now, it still gave him a comforting feeling when she stayed at his side for awhile during the night.

Elwing kissed his cheek lovingly, smiling as he reached up to embrace her. They shared a fond hug, gazing deep into each other's eyes.

"Goodnight, Ronnie," Elwing whispered. She didn't know why still called him that, but it didn't evoke any negativity, so she supposed he didn't mind.

Elrond smiled. "Goodnight, Mother. I love you."

"I love you too, _ion nin._" (my son)

----

Estë arrived just after Elwing departed, filling the chamber with her soothing lavender perfume. Elrond nodded his head to her as she took a seat at his bedside, in the chair that had once been used by her husband.

Elrond frowned, peeling his coverlet away from his body and kicking it down to the end of the bed. Why in Arda was he so hot? It was the middle of winter! And his whole body was trembling, as though he were cold, but he was far from it. This was downright scary.

"Are you all right?" asked Estë, from her seat at his bedside. The Healer's lavender eyes shone with concern.

"I… I'm not sure," the elf replied, his voice shaking as much as his body.

He raised a hand, running the back of it against his damp, sweaty forehead. Estë, worried, placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly. She closed her eyes, letting a rush of healing energy course through her body and into Elrond's. The elf shut his eyes as well, breathing deeply of her lingering lavender fragrance, trying to relax and let her power do its job.

The deviant heat spread out, covering his whole body. Something was very, very wrong. He shook more violently now, and it hurt him more and more to breathe. Estë increased her efforts in response, every fiber of her body focused on helping him.

All at once a terrible voice cut through the red-hot fog that was his mind, reverberating in dark delight. It slashed like a thousand swords, every syllable crackling with triumph.

**_She can't hold me off forever. I'll take you sooner or later. It's only a matter of time. _**

_No!_ Elrond tried to cry. But he had no voice to yell, and his shout faded even before it left him.

His mind was in chaos, a churning maelstrom of fire mingling with the sweet perfume of lavender. He was lost somewhere in the middle, tossed this way and that by the howling eddies. In anguish one instant, soothed and calm the next, then pitched headlong into pain again.

_Your gift was given to you for a reason! Use it!_

Elrond had no idea where the voice had come from, but he knew better than to disobey it. He forced himself to relax, summoning the power from deep inside himself. His body felt icy now, just the way he wanted it.

He concentrated his energy on forming a barrier between himself and the flames – not an easy task in the least, for his labors were countered endlessly by Morgoth. The Dark Lord worked his hardest to obliterate everything Elrond accomplished before it was completed. But at last the elf managed to raise a fragile, makeshift wall of ice around himself.

He set about fortifying it, working from the base upward, feeling it begin to melt against the force of his foe's fiery wrath. His own energy was flagging, and he could feel less and less of Estë. Still the two of them fought on, though they were barely enough to offset the might of Morgoth. They needed help – _now._

**_Help? _**sneered the terrible voice – Morgoth's voice. **_No-one can hear you. You are mine._**

_Not while I breathe! _roared another voice.

_Námo!_

Estë's cry staggered through the storm like a wounded bird as Mandos whirled into sight, an expression of utmost rage on his face. Elrond had only seen him angry once in his life, but that one time was nothing compared to this. Fury radiated from the Doomsman's very being like light from the sun.

**_Greetings, Námo,_** Morgoth chuckled in contempt. **_So you've come to defend your pitiful sister-in-law and her pitiful friend. Good luck to you._**

_Silence! _Mandos snapped. _Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!_

**_Or what? _**the Dark Lord snarled. **_What will you do, Doomsman?_**

The Vala's upper lip curled in anger, and he flung out his right hand. A long bolt of what looked like deep violet lightning shot from his fingers and lanced through the heart of the storm, blasting a hole in the vortex of flame. But almost as quickly as it had appeared, the hole closed over again. Morgoth gave another resonating laugh.

_**That was it? That was the height of your power? You are even weaker than I thought!**_

A tongue of flame leapt free of the storm and twined itself around the Doomsman's body, pinning his arms to his sides and squeezing him as though it were a serpent. Elrond was suddenly gripped by a great and terrible rage. He lunged out from behind the wall he had built, flinging himself full-force toward the besieged Vala.

The fire released Mandos in an instant, coiling around the elf instead. He writhed against it as his anguish redoubled tenfold. It was too much… he felt oblivion closing in around him…

…and then the ice returned, flooding him with new strength. It spread, crackling, coating him with a cold, translucent barrier, like an icy chrysalis. The flame hissed in anger as it tried to melt the obstruction, but Elrond would not give in. He had to win. He _had_ to…

…and outside, Estë and Mandos fought to draw the fire away from their friend, willingly using themselves as bait. But Morgoth was resilient; he knew his target, and he would not stop until he had completed his mission. It seemed hopeless for all three companions.

But in a heartbeat, just when all hope had faded, the fire seemed to be sucked out of the world, leaving darkness in its place. Morgoth's voice echoed in their ears.

_**This is not the end… you have not seen the last of me! I will triumph yet!**_

_We shall see, _murmured Mandos. _But at the moment, I believe we should all return to the realm of the conscious._

The three weary warriors ascended gratefully toward the merciful light of awareness.

----

Elrond stirred, blinking as he regained his senses. A wan smile rose to his lips as his gaze settled upon the Vala and Valië who stood at his side. Estë was far paler than usual (the same could not possibly be said for Mandos), and they both looked rather shaken.

"I must thank you for defending me so selflessly, Elrond," said the Doomsman sincerely. "I will not forget this."

"But you repaid the debt in an instant," the elf replied. "We're on even ground."

Mandos smiled slightly, but the gesture was overshadowed almost immediately by a grim expression. He spoke softly and solemnly, his eyes glimmering in a peculiar way.

"Listen well to me, Elrond. I have ill news."

"What is it, sire?" Elrond asked tremulously, his eyes widening.

The Vala drew a slow breath before he answered the elf. He knew exactly what his next words would do. There was nothing he could do to soften the blow.

"I am truly sorry to have to tell you this," Mandos said at length, "but Elros Tar-Minyatur passed to my halls last night."

There was an interminable instant of silence, and then, softly, Elrond collapsed into tears. He buried his face in his hands, stifling his anguished sobs. The Doomsman watched him, not making a sound, except to send a thought into Elrond's mind.

_I cannot bear to see you weep. I only wish that I could be the one to brush away your tears, instead of the one who causes them to fall._

Elrond looked up at him, gulping for breath, his body shuddering. Their eyes slowly met, a red-rimmed pair locking with a darkly glistening one… and the elf suddenly realized why his friend's eyes were shining so oddly. They were shining with tears.


	37. Sorrow and Strangers

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Sorrow and Strangers**

"If it is any comfort," said the Doomsman gently, "Elros felt nothing when he… came to me. He was asleep at the time."

Elrond nodded mutely, grasping Mandos' hand as he extended it, and letting the Vala pull him to his feet. His breathing was a little easier now, and his tears had already half-dried on his face.

The elf reached up automatically to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, but Mandos stayed his wrist and lovingly brushed the droplets away with his own hand. Elrond was surprised at the gesture, but did not resist it.

"Thank you," he said politely, in a voice hoarse from crying.

The Doomsman nodded. "You should tell your other half of this, as well as your mother."

"I will," Elrond replied, bowing. "Please excuse me…"

But he had only just reached the door when Elrond I stumbled over the threshold, his face white and his limbs shaking. He was supported by Elwing, who had a frightened look on her equally ashen features.

The elf-lord's gaze met that of his other half, whom he noticed had obvious tearstains on his pallid face. The elder elf lifted an eyebrow slightly, and the younger closed his newly-brimming eyes for a moment.

"Elrond, and Mother, there's… something you both need to know. It's important."

Elrond I felt his pulse quicken. "What is it?"

Elrond II only managed to let one word claw its way out of his throat.

"Elros…"

Elwing closed her eyes, wrapping her arms tight around her son, and sinking to her knees as she wept. The elf returned the embrace, feeling his own two bodies and her single one shuddering in shared grief.

Elwing lifted her eyes, meeting the gaze of Elrond II. "Was it painful?" she whispered.

"No," the young elf replied, attempting a smile. "Mercifully, no."

His mother nodded, slowly reaching up to caress his face. "Oh, Ronnie…"

He stiffened, cringing away from her touch. "Please don't call me that anymore."

Elwing's eyes filled with pain. "Why not?"

"Because," Elrond II said throatily, his voice saturated with anguish. "That was your way of telling me apart from Elros. And now that he's gone, it's just… I can't…"

He crumpled against her, his tormented sobs redoubling. His mother tenderly stroked his hair, murmuring in his ear through her own tears.

"I'm sorry, Elrond… I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault," he croaked. "It's no-one's fault."

She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. They remained still for what felt like an eternity, gazing deep into each other's eyes. Then, slowly and deliberately, they both rose and parted.

Elwing nodded silently to Mandos and Estë before leaving the room softly and returning to her own chamber, lost in her thoughts. Elrond stared wordlessly after her, his blue eyes glistening in sorrow. The Doomsman shared a brief look with his sister-in-law, and they, too, left the room in a whirl of silken robes and skirts.

----

The letter confirming Elros' death arrived a week later. Elrond would have thrown it into the fire unopened if Maglor hadn't halted him just in time, wanting to read the message. As understanding sunk in, the son of Fëanor tried his best to console his friend.

"I know how you feel," he said kindly, putting his arm around the half-elf's shoulder in a brotherly way. "I've lost my brothers as well… all six of them. Well," he added quietly to himself, "five of them, anyway. But Maedhros…"

He faltered, and they both shared an unpleasant series of centuries-old memories. Maglor shuddered as he tried in vain to dismiss the terrible recollections. Elrond spoke gently to him in reply.

"It's all right," he said softly. "Maedhros wasn't your brother. Not in the end, at least. He was… different."

"He was an animal," Maglor muttered. "A ruthless, bloodthirsty beast."

"Yes," the half-elf nodded. "A beast."

----

As the days rolled into weeks and months, Elrond and Elwing were not the only ones to take counsel with Nienna, as the saying went. Mandos took the phrase literally, and paid his younger sister frequent visits. They could often be seen treading the halls of Mithlond side-by-side, deep in conversation.

"Námo," said the Weeper one afternoon, "why have you only now taken such an interest in my company? Never before have you expressed a desire to mourn."

"I know it well," Mandos replied. "But never before have I borne witness to such strange circumstances as these. I have never lingered in such close proximity with the Eldar and Edain, save for those who have died. Life is a mystery to me. Emotion and I are nearly complete strangers. Only recently has Sorrow shown itself to me. And Happiness…" The Doomsman gave a wistful sigh. "Ah, Happiness. A character to cherish."

"Alas, Happiness is foreign to me," said Nienna sadly. "Sorrow is my only acquaintance of the heart; I know her well. Yet I understand little of other sentiments. Tell me…" She turned her deep blue eyes to his. "What is it like to feel glad?"

"It is utterly indescribable," Mandos told her, an unfamiliar light entering his glimmering eyes. "To my knowledge, Happiness is to the spirit as sunlight is to the earth. It is warm and rich… it penetrates deeply. It aids in the nourishment of life."

"But _I_ have life, yet I have never known such emotion," the Valië reminded him. "How can that be so, if what you say is true? Is Happiness all there truly is to existence?"

"As with all things, there is a balance to be preserved," the Vala answered. "As the sun is often veiled by rain, so Happiness and Sorrow each have their places. And some share in more of one than of the other."

"Ah," Nienna nodded. "So you speak of people such as myself and Tulkas. I have known nothing but unhappiness in all the ages of my life, and Tulkas knows little else but bliss. This is becoming clearer."

"Perhaps," said Mandos, "but there are countless other emotions to consider here. Anger, fear, love…"

"Love?"

The Vala nodded. "Yes, Fui. Love is also revealing itself to me."

"Love toward whom? Vairë, surely, and Irmo…"

"And toward you," Mandos finished. "In a fraternal and marital sense, I do love them and you. Yet it spans a greater distance than that. I am beginning to feel love toward someone else. Someone whom I have been near for over five centuries… an Elda."

Nienna raised a slender eyebrow. "An Elda? Whom?"

"Elrond."

"Does he know?"

The Doomsman shook his head. "I dare not tell him yet. Not the entire story, at least."

"How, then?"

"Little by little."

----

Even over a thousand years after Elros' death, Elrond found it difficult to say his name out loud without weeping. But Mandos' words still resonated in his heart, stirring up a mystery. Why would the Doomsman of the Valar want to comfort him after a death? It sounded as though he really cared… but why would he?

And yet small, unexpected acts of consideration from said Vala seemed to be hitting him left and right. A brotherly embrace here, a kind word there. It was good of him, yes, but still a cause of confusion. Mandos was trying to tell him something, without a doubt. Was it something greater than just, "I care about you"?

Whatever it was, the Doomsman didn't seem to want to reveal too much at a time. Elrond bided his time, accepting his caring actions and words, gratefully leaning (and sometimes weeping) on the proffered shoulder. And the mystery deepened every day.

----

"Lord Elrond?"

Elrond I glanced up from the book that lay open on his desk, turning his head and smiling as the King strode into the sunlit room. "Good afternoon, my lord."

"Good afternoon, _mellon nin,_" (my friend) Gil-galad replied politely. "I didn't see you at dinner. What have you been up to, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"Just sorting through some old memories, sire," Elrond answered, rising.

"Please, call me Gil-galad," the King laughed. "We've known each other long enough."

"Very well," the half-elf complied, beckoning his friend to his side. "And you can call me Elrond."

Gil-galad gazed silently at the book the half-elf had been reading. The upper right corner of one page was folded down, indicating that Elrond had previously left off at that point. The page itself, as well as the one before it, was covered in smooth, flowing cursive. The date at the top of the marked page read: _October 28, 530 1st Age._

The half-elf glanced at the page as well, saying quietly, "That was the night Morgoth first attacked me."

"Oh," the King murmured, his eyes widening slightly in realization. "And you choose to dwell upon such a memory?"

"Not _dwell,_ exactly," Elrond replied. "I was more… skimming over it."

There was a period of rather uneasy silence, broken by Gil-galad's voice. "I thought you should know that I'm going on a journey to Eregion in a few days' time. I've received an important summons from Lord Celebrimbor."

Elrond frowned. "Celebrimbor, son of Curufin?"

Gil-galad nodded. "The very same."

"Maglor's nephew," the half-elf murmured. "Well, he'll be pleased." He frowned slightly at the King. "How long will you be gone?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you an entirely accurate time period," the King answered. "More than a fortnight, I'm sure."

Elrond nodded. "I wish you well."

Gil-galad smiled. "Thank you."

----

The King's absence ended up lasting for nearly three weeks. Elrond and the other elves dutifully followed Queen Eithelien's orders in his friend's stead. The Queen, a tall, regal elf with a lovely face framed by long golden hair, was just as honest and gracious a ruler as her husband.

True to Elrond's prediction, Maglor was glad to hear of his nephew. Fëanor's son asked his friend to tell him everything he knew about the elf. Elrond told him what he could remember: that Celebrimbor was an extremely skilled jewelsmith, with silver hair similar to that of Cirdan.

"He's as kindhearted an elf as you could ever meet," the half-elf said truthfully. "I hope you meet him someday. I think he'll be as glad as you were to know he has some family left in this world."

"I hope we meet, too," Maglor agreed quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. "I wonder if he looks more like his father, or his grandfather?"

"I couldn't possibly tell you, having never met either of them," Elrond told him. "But he is good-looking."

"Well, maybe we'll see," Maglor murmured. "Maybe someday our paths will cross."

----

The King's return was greatly welcomed by all. Gil-galad was scarcely heard to mention the exact reason for his departure, but Elrond heard him speaking to Cirdan in a hushed voice one evening, and saw as the two of them examined something very small. Or more than one something.

The next morning, the half-elf noticed both the King and shipwright sporting exquisitely-crafted, and very familiar rings. And he knew without a doubt that the one Gil-galad wore was none other than Vilya, the Ring of Air.

Elrond listened conscientiously to the King's words at breakfast that morning. The chat between Gil-galad, Maglor, Cirdan and his two halves had turned gradually to Gil-galad's encounters in Eregion. The King spoke earnestly about his experiences; the people he had met, things he had done. One character in particular snagged at Elrond's awareness, and sent a strange, hot shudder through his body.

"Annatar was indeed a strange fellow," Gil-galad told his comrades idly. "He was quite a charming elf, but something about him just gave me cold chills. He had a strange manner about him as well. _Extremely_ persuasive. His tongue was more silver than Cirdan's hair."

"What did Annatar say to you?" Elrond I asked, feeling another weird, searing shiver.

"Strange things, at first," the King replied. "Things about power and lordship. He claimed to be a lord himself, I can't remember where of. Then he asked me about Mithlond, and my people. I told him it was a very pleasant place to live, and he told me he would like to visit sometime. Well, I could _never_ refuse that. So I invited him to stay for as long as he wished."

At this, Elrond choked on a sip of wine.

"You did _WHAT?_"


	38. Annatar

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Annatar**

"I invited him to stay for awhile," Gil-galad repeated blithely, clearly mistaking Elrond's splutter of disbelief as the result of an awkward swallow. "Are you all right?"

Elrond I frowned slightly behind the napkin he was wiping his mouth with, sending out a wary thought to the King. _Might I have a private word with you after breakfast? In my bedchamber?_

Gil-galad nodded wordlessly, a dubious frown creasing his brow. The elf-lord sighed and shivered yet again as he raised his fruit-laden fork to his lips.

----

"You _invited_ him _here?_ What were you _thinking?_"

"What do you mean, what was I thinking?" cried Gil-galad, recoiling from the sharpness of his friend's vehement exclamation. "I was being polite! There's nothing wrong with a little common courtesy – which you could certainly use a few lessons in!" he added, eyes flashing.

"You have no idea who he is, do you?" Elrond I asked. "_Do_ you, Gil-galad?"

"Do you know more about him?" the King demanded. "Pray tell!"

"He's a servant of the Dark Lord! His right-hand man! Well, he's not technically a man, but a Maia! An evil, lying, deceiving Maia from the Dark side, named Sauron! And you let him infiltrate your city! _That's_ what I mean by 'What were you thinking'!"

Gil-galad fell silent for a moment, dropping his gaze to the floor. He looked up abruptly and cried, "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? He's already on his way here!"

Elrond I bit back the curse that stormed onto his tongue. Instead he asked, in a voice that had calmness shoved into it, "When will he get here?"

"I asked at first if he could come back with me," the King replied, "but he said that he'd rather wait a few days. So, depending on how long he waited, he should arrive here either yesterday, or–"

"Today," the half-elf finished for him, his eyes riveted upon someone behind his friend. "I'm guessing he's here right now."

Gil-galad nodded slowly. "You could be right."

Then he followed Elrond I's gaze, and gave a smile and a bow to the figure who stood on the threshold.

"Ah, Lord Annatar. Good to see you."

"Good morning, Ereinion," Annatar responded, with a simpering smirk and a ridiculously low bow. "I'm so glad to see you've returned safely."

Elrond I gave a curt nod, forcing courtesy into his voice to mask his displeasure. "So this is the lord I've heard so much about."

Annatar's grin widened as he nodded in reply. "Indeed. Ereinion has told me a great deal about you, Lord… Elrond, is it?"

"Yes," the half-elf affirmed, coolly giving the newcomer a once-over. His icy eyes roved from Annatar's golden-haired head down to his black-booted feet, disdainfully meeting a pair of disarming, pale blue eyes set above a rather hooked nose in the sallow face. His robe was of deepest crimson, and his undershirt was almost impossibly white.

"Now, Ereinion," said Annatar casually, addressing the King. "Didn't I hear you tell me you'd give me a tour of your lovely haven once I arrived? I'd like to see everything that Mithlond has to offer."

"Of course," Gil-galad complied. "Well, this is Lord Elrond's bedchamber we're in, and if you'll walk this way with me…" He led his friend out the door and down the corridor, their voices fading slowly to silence. Elrond I stared after them, silently despairing.

_What have you done, Gil-galad?_ he moaned mutely._ You're handing Morgoth your haven on a plate! Your people!_

Heaving a sigh, the elf moved to his bed and sank down onto it. He reached slowly over to his bedside table, which was actually a small chest of drawers, and pulled the topmost compartment open. Inside was his chessboard, with all of its pieces intact. Thirteen Valar, one half-elf in two bodies, one Dark Lord, and fifteen shapeless, evil minions.

"Elrond?"

Elrond I flinched, jumping up and stepping hastily in front of the open drawer to conceal its contents. But he relaxed almost instantly when he saw himself in the doorway.

"Elrond," he sighed, relieved. "Please don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry," Elrond II apologized, stepping into the room. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking up on a few things," Elrond I replied, beckoning his younger half over to his side and turning to face the drawer again. Yes, it was just as he thought. The indistinct shadow on the miniature Morgoth's right side had taken shape, in the form of Annatar. The elf-lord scowled as those blue eyes twinkled innocently up at him.

"Smile while you can," he muttered scornfully to the tiny Maia. "I'll wipe that smirk off of your face soon enough."

He glanced up as something tickled the back of his hand, which was resting on top of the chest. A small smile crept up to his lips as he spotted little Lórien. Lifting his hand slowly and carefully to eye level, Elrond I nodded his head politely to the miniature Dream-lord, who returned the gesture in his familiar silence.

"It's a pity he can't speak," sighed Elrond II.

Elrond I nodded. "Indeed. I wonder how the real Lord Lórien is doing?"

"You miss him, don't you?" asked Elrond II.

"Of course! He was like a brother to me… like the older brother I never had. I only knew him for five years, but that was enough. And… I think he felt the same way about me as well."

Little Lórien glanced up at him, lifting a tiny eyebrow. Elrond I's expression changed to one of confusion as he added softly, "And there's been something about Lord Mandos as well, lately… I think he cares about us. Really, _really_ cares."

"He has been going out of his way to be thoughtful," Elrond II agreed. "But then again, he's always been good to us… when he could," he added with a sigh.

Elrond I nodded, sighing softly as well. "But this is different. I think it's a lot deeper than that. I think…"

"What?"

The elder elf met his own eyes and held them as he replied, "I think Lord Mandos loves us."

And somewhere else, hovering invisibly, the Doomsman heard him and smiled.

----

Elrond didn't see Gil-galad or Annatar again until dinner, when the two sat side-by-side at the High Table, deep in conversation. Elrond I inconspicuously spied on them, and was extremely worried by what he saw. Whenever the King spoke to the newcomer, an odd, vacant look came into his eyes. It was quick to vanish whenever he turned away from the Maia, but after a time some signs of dreaminess lingered, and increased.

"Something's very wrong here!" Elrond I hissed urgently to Elrond II. "I _knew_ Gil-galad should never have invited Annatar here! Look what he's doing to the King!"

Elrond II stared, his eyes widening in horror. "That snake!"

Elrond I nodded. "We have to do something. If Annatar takes complete control of him…" He faltered, shuddering at the mere thought. Elrond II caught the essence of it, however, and cast another anxious glance at the monarch and the Maia.

"What should we do?" he asked uneasily.

Elrond I's face was grave. "We need the Valar's help."

----

_Lord Mandos!_ Elrond I thought desperately, as he and his other half hurried down the hall after Gil-galad and Annatar, toward the King's throne room. _I am in urgent need of help!_

_You need only ask,_ replied the Doomsman compliantly, swirling elegantly into view in front of him.

Elrond I and II bowed simultaneously, and the elder spoke again, aloud this time, but no less insistently. "There is something gravely wrong with Gil-galad. I think that Annatar – Sauron – is possessing him somehow. You _have_ to do something, sire! This could change everything for the worse!"

"It is not I who must act," the Vala told him. He sent out a thought to someone other than the elf, a slight frown flitting across his face. A moment later a second figure appeared at Mandos' side: Varda. The Star-Queen's face was no less grave than her kinsman's as she spoke to Elrond, who looked warily up from his bow.

"Where are the King and Sauron now?" she asked him.

"They went in that direction a moment ago, my lady," Elrond II told her, pointing down the hallway in the direction he had just been hastening.

Varda nodded. "Wait here."

She shed her body and soared swiftly down the hall without another word.

----

Gil-galad shuddered slightly in his seat, his long, slender fingers tightening on the ends of the arms of his throne. His head was throbbing painfully, and he absently put his right hand up to it. At the same time, he moved his eyes to gaze at the figure kneeling next to his seat, who was gazing up at him in concern.

"My lord?" said Annatar softly, in a silky voice. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Gil-galad answered slowly, moving neither hand nor eyes. "It's nothing."

"Perhaps you should retreat to your bedchamber, sire," the Maia continued beguilingly, lifting his own hand to rest it on the King's left wrist. "You look unwell."

Gil-galad didn't reply immediately. He hid another shiver, closing his eyes as some black veil seemed to flit before his eyes, clouding his vision and muddling his thoughts. All the elf could hear was Annatar's sickly sweet voice, threading through his mind like a breeze through tree branches, twining like a serpent.

"Rest awhile, my lord… come, I'll show you to your room…"

He felt himself nod, still shrouded in the dark fog, and get slowly to his feet. But a second voice, a cold, sharp feminine one, hacked its way through the mist like a shining knife.

"You will go nowhere, Sauron!"

The King's vision was overwhelmed in an instant. All but blinded by a blaze of light, he could just see the lone figure standing at the other end of the room: an exceptionally tall, exquisitely beautiful lady with long, dark hair and a livid glint in her eyes. The dazzling radiance filling the room seemed to come from her.

Annatar, who was still standing at Gil-galad's side, did his best to maintain a cool front in the presence of Varda. He stepped forward and addressed her in an arrogant voice.

"Greetings, milady," he sneered with a mocking bow. "How can I serve thee?"

"By releasing your grasp on Ereinion, and cowering back to your master," the Star-Queen replied coldly. "Begone."

Annatar's wicked smirk never wavered. "Of _course_, my Queen. As you decree. But first, I have my orders to follow." He inched back to Gil-galad, who was standing still in a dazed stupor, and leaned toward his ear to whisper something. But the Valië scarcely moved a finger, and the Maia was suddenly sprawled on his back, ten feet away from the King.

He clambered to his feet, breathing heavily, but Varda wasn't finished with him yet. She snapped her pale fingers, and a ring of light formed around Annatar, that rose and danced like white fire. No matter how he attempted to, he couldn't cross over it. He was trapped, for a time at least. Now Varda addressed Gil-galad in a firm and powerful voice. The elf stared mutely back, his eyes half-closed and glassy.

"Hear me, Ereinion, son of Fingon!" she cried, striding toward him as she spoke. "Come back into the Light!"

Annatar let out a menacing growl, lunging toward the King, and was knocked back and forth between the solid-looking walls of the blazing ring.

"You will not hold me for long!" he roared in fury.

Varda ignored him, her concentration only upon Gil-galad. "Cast off the cloak of lies and darkness! Heed not the voice of Morgoth!"

The elven-king swayed unsteadily, his eyes slowly clearing up. Nearby, Annatar shut his eyes and threw out his hand. Gil-galad shuddered, and Varda sent a burst of light toward the Maia, which struck him in the arm that he lifted to shield his chest. He slumped to the floor again, and the Valië spoke once more to the King.

"Leave this shadow behind you," she told him, in a gentler voice. "Step forward."

He did so, shakily, and no sooner had he followed her command than he gave a soft sob and fell to his knees at her feet.

"My lady," he whispered, as tears dripped down his face. "My Queen."


	39. Starchild

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Starchild**

Varda smiled calmly, bending a little and extending her hand to Gil-galad. He grasped it tightly in his own, and she pulled him carefully to his feet, where he stood steadily.

They both turned to look down at Annatar, or Sauron, who had risen to his feet within the ring, his clothes rumpled and golden hair disheveled. An expression of purest hatred was stamped across his pale face, burning in his blue eyes.

"This is not the end," he hissed threateningly. "We'll meet again, Ereinion!"

Varda met his stare with an almost bored expression. "Get out of my sight!"

With a second snap of the Valië's fingers, the hoop of light surrounding Sauron vanished. He leapt forward with a snarl, but Varda halted him with an outstretched arm. "You will not touch him again! Go back to the Void!"

Seething mutely, the Maia disappeared in a rage of flame-hued light. Varda watched him leave with ice in her eyes. Then she sighed soundlessly and turned back to Gil-galad, who bowed in reverence.

"I don't know how to thank you, my lady," he said gratefully. "You've saved my life, my kingdom…"

"Thank the one who first beheld your captivity, and had the courage to plead for aid," the Star-Queen replied. "It was Elrond who saw what Sauron had done to you, not I."

The King nodded. "I will indeed thank him, when next I see him."

Varda smiled benignly. "Go in peace."

----

Elrond II fidgeted anxiously with a handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket, staring in anticipation and dread toward where he had seen Varda leave. Elrond I laid a hand on his arm to calm him, and Mandos glanced calmly down at them, a tiny smile flickering on his lips.

"It appears that Varda has succeeded," he said pleasantly, nodding toward the far end of the corridor. A tall figure was approaching them steadily, and Elrond I and II bowed as he came into clear view.

It was Gil-galad. The King's head was held high, and his eyes were brighter than the half-elf had ever seen them. He bowed low when he saw Mandos, then turned slowly to meet Elrond's eyes – all four of them – and seemed to grow smaller as he just stood there. His shoulders slumped, his head hung. Finally, after a long silence, he looked up and spoke.

"Elrond," he said solemnly, "I owe you my life. If you hadn't understood Sauron's plans and acted in swiftly, I don't know what would have become of me, or my kingdom. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you."

Elrond I shared a fleeting glance with himself before replying, "You're welcome, sire."

"Please, call me Gil-galad," the King said kindly. "I owe you a sincere apology as well. I spoke to you earlier in anger and haste. I should have listened to you. Please forgive me."

Elrond I bowed his head humbly. "_Ú-moe edhored, hir nin._" (There is nothing to forgive, my lord.)

Gil-galad smiled. "Forget what I told you about the benefits of courtesy – you obviously possess an abundance. I wish I had half as much."

Elrond I smiled as well. "Thank you."

----

Elrond II sighed as he climbed into bed that evening, with little Lórien on his pillow. The tiny Vala had been alternating between staying with both halves of Elrond for some time. Now, he knelt next Elrond II's nose as the elf lay down on his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

Two pairs of blue eyes met, and Elrond II smiled quietly. Then a faraway look came into his eyes, and he turned his gaze up to the high ceiling, just as a familiar, literally glowing figure swirled gracefully into view.

"Good evening, Elrond."

"Good evening, my lady," the elf replied courteously, sitting up in his bed and bowing his head to Varda.

The Valië returned the gesture with a tranquil smile. "How are you?"

"In honesty, I've been better. And yourself?"

"Satisfactory."

"Did I ever thank you for what you did for Gil-galad this afternoon?" Elrond II asked.

Varda nodded. "You did, in fact."

"Ah, yes," the elf smiled. "Now I remember."

He lapsed into a pensive silence thick with disjointed memories of the past few days. Gil-galad and Cirdan wore Rings of Power. Annatar – Sauron – had nearly brought Mithlond to its knees. Varda had given Gil-galad back his freedom and his kingdom. Lord Mandos, it seemed, loved him…

Elrond II looked up to see the Star-Queen nodding silently, a tiny smile playing upon her lips. As the elf frowned in confusion, her melodious voice entered his mind.

_You guess correctly,_ she told him.

He stared at her in surprise. _You knew?_

_I was the first to be told._

_What did he say to you?_ Elrond II inquired.

Varda smiled reminiscently. _He told me that he has been growing very close to you, and that he was uncertain of whether or not to tell you of it. But as you already know, it seems redundant now._

_May I ask when he told you?_

She met his gaze and held it as she replied, _On the evening of October the twenty-eighth, in the year five hundred thirty of the First Age; the day of Manwë's Council._

The half-elf's eyes widened in realization. _He has loved me for that long?_

The Valië nodded. _So it appears._

Elrond II fell silent. This changed everything. Lord Mandos had loved him for more than one and a half thousand years, and he had been totally unaware… he had never returned the affections so selflessly poured out to him. He felt his eyes begin to fill with hot tears.

"I never knew," he whispered aloud. "How could I be so blind? All the things he did for me, and I never considered that he might be giving me hints of his feelings. I don't know what I was thinking… how can I ever compensate for fifteen hundred years of unrequited love?" he cried, as the droplets rolled down his face.

Varda tenderly wiped his face with the back of her cool, soft hand, shushing him gently. "There will be more than enough time to recompense that. Trust me."

The elf stared deep into her gentle eyes. "I do trust you."

He fell silent again, turning his gaze to his bedroom window. Eärendil's star shone down upon the earth below like a beacon of hope. Elrond II sighed as he envisioned his father's kind, noble face, which Cirdan had once said greatly resembled his own.

"Who am I?" he wondered aloud.

"Fifteen hundred years, and you do not know?" Varda raised a slender eyebrow.

He looked back at her, replying, "Yes, my lady. I don't know. There's only so much I can learn from my other half. I'd like to find out some things for myself, but I'm not exactly sure where to begin. Am I only my father's son, or something more, or less?"

The Star-Queen seated herself at his side, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder. "What is your name, Elrond?"

Elrond II frowned at her. "You've just said it, my lady: Elrond."

She nodded. "Elrond… in your tongue, Star-dome." She pointed up to the inky black sky visible through his window. "Where my children dwell."

The Valië gave a laugh at the elf's confused frown. "You think it deviant for me to have offspring? Nearly all of my kin have something in this world to call their own, that which he or she has created.

"Manwë is the father of the winds, as Ulmo is of the waters. Yavanna is mother to all the green things that grow upon the earth; Aulë is father to the stones and metals that make up the soil. Fui has authority over the tears that she weeps, and Irmo over the visions and dreams he sends. Would you not agree?"

Elrond II nodded. "You do have a point, my lady. But what does all that have to do with me?"

"Think about what I have told you," Varda replied. "Your name is Star-dome; the home of my children. One of those children is your father. He sails through the heavens even as he sails through your own heart." She moved her hand there as she spoke.

Elrond II glanced down at the Star-Queen's hand, then up at she herself. "So if my father is your 'child', then wouldn't that make me related to you? Like a grandson, maybe?"

The Valië's sparkling eyes smiled down at him. "More like a nephew."

Elrond II smiled as well, but frowned slightly as he remembered something. "But I think we're already connected somehow, my lady. My great-great-grandmother was Melian the Maia."

Varda nodded. "I remember Melyanna," she sighed reminiscently, using the Maia's true name instead of the more common, shortened one. "She was in fact one of the Ainur, and my distant kin. So, yes, we are related somehow."

"I am honored to be considered your kinsman, my lady," Elrond II replied with a modest nod of his head.

The Valië smiled benevolently. "I am glad to count you as a kinsman."

She sent out a gentle thought into his mind. _You should get some sleep._

The half-elf nodded, lying back down. _Very_ _well. Goodnight, my lady._

_Goodnight, Elrond. Sleep well._

The elf smiled calmly, sharing a brief glance with little Lórien as his eyes glazed over.

----

Elrond I awoke from a deep, dreamless slumber to find Elrond II sitting at his bedside. The elder half-elf nodded to himself as he sat up. "Good morning, me."

"Good morning, me," Elrond II smiled. "How am I?"

It was surprisingly easy to slip into his old banter. It seemed almost as if they had slipped into the past, in the days of Elrond II's youth… before Elros had left…

Elrond I sighed, looking up and meeting his own tear-filled eyes. The bitter memory still clung as strongly as ever.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's not your fault," Elrond II said reassuringly. "It's no-one's fault."

Elrond I struggled to hold a second surge of grief at bay when he recognized the familiar phrase. He glanced at himself again, seeing silent tears tracing Elrond II's cheeks. The elf put an arm about his shoulder in something like a half-hug. Elrond II frowned at himself.

"You do remember that we're the same person, right?"

Elrond I caught the hint, and removed his arm. "Right. It's just a bit odd, considering that I've been treating you almost like a nephew your whole life. I mean, regardless of the fact that I'm you, I'm also your godfather."

Elrond II nodded pensively. "Speaking of nephews…"

"What?" Elrond I frowned.

"You just reminded me of something Lady Varda told me last night…"

The younger half-elf told himself everything the Valië had told him the previous evening. Elrond I listened in awed patience.

"She considers us her nephew?"

"Something like that," Elrond II nodded. "She preferred it to grandson, in any case."

Elrond I digested this carefully, speaking only after a long pause.

"Lord Mandos thinks of us as a brother, and Lady Varda considers us her nephew. At the same time, we're also related to the Valar through blood. This keeps on getting curiouser and curiouser, doesn't it?"

"You mean 'more and more curious'," Elrond II corrected him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said 'curiouser and curiouser'," answered his godson patiently. "That's technically incorrect. It should be 'more and more curious'."

"Whatever. You know what I meant."

"I know. But it doesn't change a thing."

"Yes, it does!"

"As long as you know what I'm talking about, what does it matter?"

"Well, of course _I'm_ going to know what you're talking about! But you're supposed to be a great loremaster and a scholar! You can't go around saying silly things like 'curiouser and curiouser'!"

"Well, I'm saying it right now, aren't I?" Elrond I laughed. "You're me, you know. And I'm a loremaster and scholar already! You're the one who still has to grow up!"

"But you're me! So, in a technical sense, you've still got some maturing to do yourself!"

"You do realize you're only insulting yourself, don't you?"

Elrond opened his mouth to reply sarcastically, then thought better of it and grinned and shrugged in defeat. "Well, I'm going down to breakfast. How about me?"


	40. News and Strategy

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: News and Strategy**

The reddish-gold radiance of sunset poured delicately through the window into Elrond I's bedchamber. The elf sighed absently as he turned to a blank page of his journal, lifting his pen to write. The pointed tip glided over the parchment, leaving thin, graceful veins of deep blue ink on the yellowish page.

_It has been nearly a hundred years since Annatar's departure. Mithlond is quiet; almost unnervingly so. Thankfully, Morgoth hasn't shown himself for a while; not since his most recent attack of six hundred years ago. That brings the total up to three. Thirteen more to go. That's another unlucky number, isn't it?_

_I still can't take in that Lord Mandos _**loves**_ me. And I didn't know a single thing about it for fifteen hundred years! Every time I look at him, I just know he's hurting, deep inside. But really, who wouldn't, knowing that the one you love doesn't love you back? Not that I don't care about him — I really do — but it's so hard to handle. _

_It was all just so sudden. One day he was my superior, a Lord of the Valar; and the next, he wanted to be my equal… my brother. The older brother I never had. I still don't know how I can make it up to him. Eru knows I'm trying._

_But does he even know that I know?_

"Elrond! Elrond!"

Elrond looked up, setting down his pen and standing to greet Maglor. He started when he saw the look on his friend's ashen face.

"What's wrong?" he cried.

"Gil-galad sent me," the son of Fëanor gasped, clutching a stitch in his side. "He told me to tell you that he wishes to see you in the throne room immediately."

Elrond I nodded. "Help me look for him; it won't take as long if we both work together."

"No need," said Elrond II's voice from behind Maglor. "I'm right here."

"Good!" said Elrond I, striding toward himself as Maglor turned around. "Come with me – the King wants to see the two of us."

"What does he want?" asked the younger half-elf, as they hurried down the corridor.

"I'm not sure," his godfather replied. "But Maglor said he was _extremely_ urgent."

"Then we'd best get there as quickly as possible," Elrond II panted, increasing his stride. "Come on!"

When they finally burst breathlessly into the throne room, the King and Cirdan were both waiting for them; Gil-galad wore a grim expression, and held a scroll of parchment in his right hand. He gave a nod in return of their bows, addressing them briskly.

"This letter is from Celebrimbor of Eregion," he explained, holding out the parchment. "He has urgent news. Sauron has discovered something of deadly significance."

"What did he discover?" Elrond II inquired nervously, through a mouth that was dry with trepidation.

The King gazed deeply into Elrond's four blue eyes. "You know of the Rings of Power. The creations of Celebrimbor. Three wrought for Elves, seven for Dwarfs, nine for Men."

Two heads nodded noiselessly, and one pair of eyes flickered momentarily over to Cirdan before settling back on Gil-galad.

"Sauron has betrayed Celebrimbor," the King continued evenly. "He has betrayed all the Free Peoples of this earth – Men, Elves and Dwarfs alike. The Rings of Power were once nineteen – so it should have remained. But not now. Now," he told them, his voice falling to a murmur, "there are twenty."

Elrond I's eyes narrowed in fury. He spoke in a hushed voice, his every syllable weighted down with hatred.

"_One Ring to rule them all; one Ring to find them.  
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them._"

Elrond II turned his frightened gaze to his other half. The elder elf held his eyes and voice steady. "We need to do something _now._ Eregion is in danger. Sauron will seek to destroy it forever, and its people with it. But we can save them if we act immediately!"

"What do you suggest we do?" Gil-galad asked him calmly.

"Send some of your elves to Eregion," Elrond I insisted, mounting intensity in his voice. "They can help defend Celebrimbor's people."

"How do you know of this?"

"I have Foreseen it." _Remembered it,_ he corrected himself mutely. This had happened in his previous life as well, but they had not had such warning.

"You seem to know a great deal about this," Cirdan spoke up. Elrond flinched slightly; he had almost forgotten that the shipwright was present. "Is there something specific you're not telling us?"

_There's a lot I'm not_ _telling_ _you, _Elrond I thought. _But_ _only because I can't._

"Yes and no," he said out loud. "I do know much about this, and I will gladly share what insight I have. But I fear I don't even know the complete story. I only know that Sauron's will is turned toward Celebrimbor alone, at least for the moment."

"'For the moment'?" Gil-galad repeated, his eyebrows shooting up like birds lifting from a branch. "Explain yourself, Elrond."

The half-elf nodded. "You have already said that Sauron has betrayed all Free Peoples, not only the Eldar. He will eventually strike against Men and Dwarfs as well. We all have a common enemy."

The King pondered this warily. "Be that as it may, the key factor at this point is Eregion. What are we to do that will aid Celebrimbor?"

Elrond I drew a breath before he spoke.

"To my knowledge, there is little that we can do at this point. I know that Sauron will not openly strike Eregion for almost a hundred years. But there might be something."

"Do you know where Sauron is now?" Gil-galad asked him. "Does he have a stronghold anywhere?"

"Yes," Elrond I nodded firmly. "He has completed a fortress deep in the heart of Mordor. It is named Barad-dûr."

Everyone present shuddered at the name as it passed the elf's lips. _Barad-dûr_ – the Black Keep. The title alone was infused with loathing and danger.

"We should strike now!" cried Elrond II. "Counter-attack when he least expects it. Turn the tables against him."

Elrond I had to admit, the plan seemed a good one. He remembered how things had gone before. Eregion had been destroyed, and many realms of the Free Peoples laid to waste. If they _did_ defeat Sauron soon – not necessarily immediately, but without too much delay – then what had been devastated that time might be spared now. Hundreds of lives could be saved. What did they have to lose?

"We need a plan," he told his godson and kinsmen. "We can't just sally forth willy-nilly and knock on his door."

"You're absolutely right," Cirdan nodded. "Let's begin immediately."

Gil-galad shook his head. "It's getting late. I suggest we sleep on this. We'd be better off to start tomorrow, when our minds are clearer. In the meantime, goodnight. Sleep well."

They all nodded and departed, lost to their own private thoughts.

----

Elrond I sighed as he climbed into bed, pulling the thick, warm blanket up to his chin. He had almost let his eyes glaze when Mandos arrived, swift and silent as a shadow. The elf sat up and bowed his head in respect, noting with a twinge of worry that the Vala wore a grim look on his pale face.

"Is something wrong, sire?" he asked carefully.

The Doomsman neither nodded nor shook his head. "Yes and no. I heard of your plan to strike against Sauron. I have come to tell you that your attempt will be futile. You cannot hope to save Eregion."

"But I thought if we acted sooner…"

"It would prove useless. Some things cannot change."

"Why not?" Elrond I demanded, more angrily than he meant to.

"One thing must give way to another," Mandos replied. "Do you remember Imladris?"

"Of course!" How could he forget the home that he himself would someday build?

"Yes. It was only founded _after_ Eregion was destroyed in your past life," the Doomsman explained. "The same holds true in this life."

Elrond I felt his mouth dry out, and forced his next words to emerge.

"But can't _some_ things change, sire? Can't the lives of so many innocent elves be spared? Is that too much to ask?"

"It is not," Mandos agreed. "But that is not my decision. As I have told you before, I have only the _knowledge_ of all that was, is, and will yet be. I am not the one who sets it all into motion."

The half-elf nodded slowly. "Then what must I do?"

The Vala gave him a careful explanation. Elrond I digested it slowly, feeling a bittersweet pang in his heart, and hot tears brimming in his eyes. The strategy was a tangle of losses and gains. Defeats and victories. Lives and deaths.

"Are you sure of this?" the elf asked carefully. "Must it be him?" He cringed as an image flashed to the forefront of his mind.

"Yes. There is no other way."

Elrond I nodded, noticing the sadness in his comrade's voice. "Very well… so be it."

The Doomsman nodded, laying a gentle hand on the elf-lord's shoulder. "Get some rest, Elrond. You need as much as you can acquire."

----

Mandos lingered there for a while, guarding his friend loyally. The moonlight caused the elf's fair face to almost glow, and his glazed eyes to glint weirdly. Little Lórien sat on the pillow next to Elrond's right ear. His tiny knees were drawn up to his chest; he appeared deep in thought about something. The Doomsman held out his hand, and the miniature Dream-lord strode confidently onto his palm.

Mandos gave a soundless sigh, his keen gaze roving back and forth between the figure in the bed and the one standing on his hand. The first was an elf whom he considered to be a younger brother, and whom he knew was trying his best to deal with his newly-formed kinships; the other was a tiny replica of another little brother.

He cast another glance at the sleeping elf, and his brows contracted slightly as a thought came to him. He allowed a bittersweet sigh to pass through his lips as he considered the events to take place, soon and not so soon.

_Nearly everything imaginable possessed two sides. Light and Dark. Day and Night. Good and Evil. Friends and Enemies. Happiness and Sorrow. Life and Death. The Sky and the Earth. _

_Fire and Ice._

Mandos shuddered slightly, but soon lapsed into a sense of… contentment. This was new to him. What would occur would be terrible, yes. But even in the deepest darkness, there was Light. The Evil would give way to Good.

All he needed was Time.

----

Elrond I awoke early the next morning with a plan buzzing through his mind. He hurried to the Great Hall, to find Gil-galad, Cirdan and Elrond II all waiting for him. He greeted them warmly, and looked up to see another figure enter.

The King looked up, smiling cordially. "Good morning, Maglor."

"Good morning," the son of Fëanor greeted his friends. "I understand that you're forming a plan of some sort? A strategy of attack?"

Elrond I nodded. "And I happen to have one fully-formed."

He explained the plot extremely carefully, leaving almost nothing out. His comrades and his other half listened with the utmost care, knowing the slightest detail could be crucial. They stood still as stone while Elrond I spoke. When at last he paused for breath, Maglor was the first to speak out.

"When exactly will we be carrying this out?" he asked.

"Naturally, I assumed we should act as soon as possible," the half-elf replied. "But as this is King Gil-galad's household, I believe it should be his decision."

He nodded courteously to his friend as he spoke his name. The three companions waited uncomplainingly for the King's verdict.

"I entirely agree," Gil-galad smiled. "We should take action immediately. And Elrond the First, as it was you who formulated this scheme, I appoint you the general of the militia."

"It would be an honor, my lord," Elrond I replied, bowing.

The King nodded smartly. "Good! Now, we first need to equip our forces…"


	41. Into the Fire

**Chapter Forty: Into the Fire**

The fateful morning dawned bright and clear; blue skies and balmy summer wind lifted the spirits of all of the elves who were to take part in the plan. Everything was in order as Elrond I went over the plot a final time with his other half, Maglor, Gil-galad and Cirdan. It _had_ to be perfect. There was no room for failure.

"We don't need the militia just yet," he said, looking up at his friends from the map that was spread out flat on the desk before them. "They're more like reinforcements – they can wait here until I send word for help. Today, you three–" he nodded to Maglor, Cirdan and Elrond II "–will accompany me to Eregion and meet Celebrimbor. Once we arrive, we'll warn he and his people about Sauron. They need to know as soon as possible… just in case."

"In case of what?" asked Elrond II, a faint tremor in his voice.

"In case Sauron gets it into his head that he should strike early," his godfather answered, his voice lowering to a murmur. "But let's not dwell too long on that."

"What next?" inquired Cirdan, his silver-hued beard twitching as he frowned. "What will happen once we warn Celebrimbor?"

"Then," replied Elrond I commandingly, "we'll begin setting up defenses around the city – as many as we can, and as quickly as we can. We must _not_ be caught off-guard. Far too much is at stake for anything to hinder us."

The shipwright nodded. "Very well. And then?"

"Then we wait. But now," he said, a fierce glint entering his eyes, "we should get a move on. Do you all have what you need?"

----

An evening that came nearly a week later gently draped its soft black cloak over the lush green shoulders of the earth. The silver-white crescent of the moon clasped it lovingly in place, and the innumerable stars adorned it like so many tiny sequins. Their light revealed a splendid city on the horizon, and the four swift figures galloping toward it over hill and field; a group of elves on horseback.

The elf in the lead, a handsome, bearded lord with silver hair and bright turquoise eyes, scanned the land for a sign of approaching strangers. The darkened fields seemed empty, save for him and his comrades. The elf raised his hand in a signal to his fellows, and they sped up their already fleet pace.

Cirdan turned his eyes to the front yet again. The distance between them and Eregion was steadily decreasing. They would make it there within ten minutes, if not less. Good thing, too – he could just feel foamy sweat beginning to form on the glossy hide of his chestnut-colored steed.

"Nearly there," he murmured soothingly to the stallion. "You can make it."

The horse snorted softly in reply; Cirdan stroked his neck gently, and looked to his left as Elrond I drew abreast of him.

"How much longer?" the half-elf asked.

"We're not far now," replied the shipwright. "Ten minutes, if not less."

"Excellent. Gwainûr is tiring." He patted the dappled grey neck of his mount as he spoke.

"We can make it. And we will."

As Cirdan had predicted, they reached the city in good time. The friends dismounted their horses and approached the gates cautiously, leading their mounts alongside them. Cirdan raised his left hand, the one that wasn't full of reins, and knocked on the door. They only had to wait for a moment before the doors creaked open.

A noble-looking, silver-haired elf stood on the threshold; if he hadn't been clean-shaven, he would nearly have been mistakable for Cirdan. His blue eyes glinted in the moonlight as they took the travelers in; he addressed them in a hushed and rather worried voice.

"I saw you coming from afar," he said warily, with a nervous glance around them. "I am Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, lord of this city. Who are you, and what is your business?"

"We have come to give you an urgent warning, my lord," replied Cirdan with a respectful nod of his head. "King Gil-galad of Mithlond sent us. We are his response to your letter. My name is Cirdan; my companions are Lord Elrond the First, Master Elrond the Second, and Maglor, son of Fëanor."

Celebrimbor frowned in confusion, a strange look flittering across his face at the sound of his grandfather and uncle's names. "Maglor?" he repeated.

"Yes." Maglor stepped forward a pace, nodding courteously. "We've never had the honor of meeting before, sire. I am your uncle."

Celebrimbor's eyes lit up. "Well met indeed!"

Maglor laughed, sharing a hug with his nephew. When they pulled away, the younger elf addressed Cirdan again. "What is the message you bear?"

"I believe it would be better if we were to discuss it inside," Cirdan replied. "Voices can carry far over open space."

Celebrimbor nodded, stepping aside to let them pass.

"Yes, yes, of course. Please, do come in."

----

"So, what is it you were sent here to tell me?"

In the short silence that followed his query, the jewelsmith's gaze roved purposely around the small, round table, taking in each newcomer in turn. The pale gold light of a candle's dancing flame was reflected in each of their eyes. All of them looked extremely anxious. Celebrimbor studied their faces, particularly that of Maglor – the uncle he'd never known existed before this night. Unknown family.

Elrond I coughed slightly, breaking the silence.

"We're here to warn you that you and your people are in grave danger. Sauron is coming to take your city. He'll stop at nothing until it is destroyed. You must put up the strongest defenses you can muster. We can help you do that."

"We know nothing of his plans!" cried the jewelsmith. "We don't know when or how he will attack! How can we hope to protect ourselves?"

"_I_ know his plans," the half-elf murmured, so quietly that Celebrimbor had to concentrate to catch the sound.

"What are they?" he demanded, his voice abrupt and sharp.

"He moves to claim your city by force," Elrond I answered, pinning Celebrimbor in place with his eyes alone. "But he is coming for _you_, first and foremost. He wants to know all that you know about the Rings of Power. And he will do anything to get that information from you."

The jewelsmith let out a furious snarl. "I would sooner surrender my soul to Mandos than give _anything_ to Sauron!"

Elrond I shivered; only he knew the full weight of those words. In the half-elf's past life, Celebrimbor had died after being tortured by Sauron.

Elrond I made a silent vow as he sat in that dim chamber: to do anything and everything in his power to save all of the lives that he could.

"You needn't fear," he said, in what he hoped were reassuring tones rather than nervous ones. "He won't come for some time. "You'll have plenty of warning."

"Then why have you come so soon, if you know the attack will not occur immediately?" The jewelsmith's eyes were as hard as the gems he worked with.

"We came because King Gil-galad sent us," replied Elrond II.

There was another pause, filled with stifled coughs and the nervous squeaking of chairs. No-one seemed to know what to say. But at length Cirdan spoke up, rather hesitantly.

"The Three Rings have been hidden," he said, "but that will not daunt Sauron in the least. Whether you would reveal these secrets or not means little or nothing to him. He will find other methods, other victims. One slight hindrance will only spur on his rage."

"Cirdan is right," Maglor spoke up firmly. "That's why you need to defend yourself! Let us help you. We might at least be able to hold him at bay long enough for your people to escape."

"Escape to where?" Celebrimbor snapped at him. "Where shall we flee, nephew? Into the mountains? The Dwarfs care nothing for our race. They hide in their caves seeking riches for their own pleasure. They would never assist us!"

He stopped for a breath, and put his hand up to his forehead as though it was hurting him. When he looked at his guests again, there was weariness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he sighed tiredly. "I can't seem to concentrate. It's late. We should all get to bed. I will arrange for your accommodations at once."

They nodded, rising and leaving in single-file. A few hours' rest would do them all good.

----

Elrond I was jolted from a deep sleep by someone shouting and pounding on his bedroom door. Regaining his senses rapidly, he leapt from the bed, only to find that his ankle was tangled in the sheets.

The elf stumbled awkwardly toward the door and flung it open. No sooner had he done so that Cirdan rushed in, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Get out of here!" the shipwright gasped. "Now!"

The half-elf nodded hurriedly, wincing as his friend seized his wrist. They sprinted down the corridor, which was slowly being lit up by the pastel pink and golden sunrise. There was no time to wonder at its beauty, however. Cirdan urgently half-tugged Elrond down the hallway as he ran.

"What's wrong?" cried the half-elf in alarm.

"We're—"

The shipwright's voice was drowned out by an enormous crash, followed by a cacophony of frantic screams. A sharp, bitter smell assaulted their nostrils. Smoke!

"Cirdan, _what in **Ûdun** is going on?_"

"We're under attack!" Cirdan gasped.

A flood of elves, all of them hysterical, poured into the corridor, pushing and shoving the half-elf and the shipwright away from each other. Cirdan was flattened against the wall while Elrond was jostled further down the hallway. He struggled desperately to rejoin his friend, but the bearded elf was soon lost in the mad throng.

"Cirdan!" Elrond I screamed. "_Cirdan!_"

There was no reply. The half-elf stumbled as someone elbowed him hard in the side, but he was pulled up in time to avoid being trampled. He sighed gratefully when he saw that his rescuer was Maglor.

"_Hannon le!_" (Thank you!) he gasped.

"Don't mention it," the son of Fëanor replied. "Have you seen Celebrimbor?"

"No, I was just with Cirdan—"

Maglor swore under his breath. "Where _is_ he?"

"We'll never be able to find him in this horde!" cried Elrond I. "And Elrond the Second is missing, too!" Cold terror seized his heart.

All at once the roof exploded above them, showering the seething multitude of elves with chunks of white-hot stone and other debris. Smoke and dust rose in thick, choking clouds. Coughing madly, eyes burning, Elrond stumbled on half-blind.

He didn't even have time to breathe before a cold hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Another seized his shoulder in a ruthless grip, and steered him toward an open door. The half-elf squirmed wildly in his captor's clutches, but whoever it was had no intention of letting him go. A pitiless voice hissed into his ear, and the accompanying hot breath made him cringe.

"We meet again, Elrond the First."

The hands released him, giving him a hard shove forward. He stumbled, but regained his balance before falling. The voice chuckled softly, mocking him without remorse.

"Did you really think me such a fool? You should have known that I would come. All the worse for you, I suppose. Some things can't be helped."

The voice was chillingly familiar to him. Mouth dry with dread, his entire body trembling uncontrollably, Elrond I turned around to face the stranger, and found himself transfixed by two icy blue eyes, above a hooked nose in a sallow face framed by pale golden hair.

Sauron.


	42. Out of the Ashes

**Chapter Forty-One: Out of the Ashes**

"_You,_" Elrond snarled.

Sauron gave a familiar bland sneer. "Nice to see you again."

"I can't honestly say I return the sentiment," the half-elf replied tightly.

"Oh, come now," Sauron cajoled, stepping deliberately toward him. "Surely we can make things up between us? You're not still bitter about that teensy little incident in Mithlond, are you?"

"_Bitter_ doesn't come close to how I am," Elrond I told him frostily. "And that 'incident', as you call it, was miles away from _teensy_."

"Sour grapes, Elrond, sour grapes," the Maia smirked, still advancing. "Why not sweeten them just a bit? Hmm?" He extended his right hand slowly as he spoke. "A truce, maybe? Some semblance of equality?"

"Equality?" the elf repeated disbelievingly. "Truce? Do you even know what those words mean?"

Sauron chose not to answer that directly. "Are we going to make peace, or aren't we?"

Elrond I's eyes narrowed. It was a trick, a ruse. Sauron was trying to make him drop his guard. Well then, he resolved, he would cling to it for dear life.

His enemy seemed to sense his judgment, and curled his lip in rage. Raising the hand that he had proffered, he struck like a viper and closed his fingers around the half-elf's throat. Elrond I gasped in anguish, because not only was he being choked, but the Maia's once-cold hand was now literally burning him, blistering his skin.

Sauron cackled in triumph at his captive's agony, grinning cruelly as the elf squeezed his eyes shut. He must have been struggling to live, the Maia thought with malice.

Elrond I was suddenly overtaken by a rush of icy power from somewhere that he couldn't detect. Was it from himself? His temperature plunged; his skin sparkled with frost, which started to melt, but soon froze again. Fire and ice battled on, winning and losing by turns. The half-elf found that he could breathe just a little easier if he relaxed his body, but that didn't lessen Sauron's hold. He needed something more.

His mind flew back to the night of Sauron's attempt to overthrow Gil-galad through sheer trickery. Varda had been the one to save Mithlond and banish the Maia. Maybe she could again.

Elrond I sent a thought charging forth into his adversary's mind: a shout he hoped would pierce like an icy spear. It was desperate, but it was his only chance.

_In the name of Elbereth, Queen of Light, you shall conquer neither me nor this city!_

Sauron hissed in rage, releasing him swiftly and stumbling backward. The name of Varda had been like a blow to his body, just as the elf had prayed. He lay gasping on the floor as the Maia let out a snarl.

"You have not won. The fire still burns!"

Elrond I looked up at him, coughing from both the smoke and the force of his attempted strangulation, and sent out another thought as blood rose into his mouth and dripped from his lips.

_The ice will quench it,_ he replied coldly. _Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel!_

Sauron hissed furiously again, and vanished in a whirl of flame. The elf slumped weakly to the floor again, fighting to stay awake. Part of the roof collapsed above, some distance away from him. The cold wind that came gusting down through the sizeable hole carried a torrent of freezing rain and hailstones. Elrond let the droplets and icy chunks spray over him, hearing the fire hissing all around him as it was slowly extinguished.

He sighed as the ice smothered him, and the smoky air gradually cleared. But he couldn't quite gather the strength to get up. He thought he could hear voices calling his name, but they sounded far-off and faint. His heart throbbed against his ribs, and his breaths rasped through his scorched and bloody throat. A thousand thoughts careened drunkenly through his muddled mind.

_Did Maglor ever find Celebrimbor? What happened to them? And where am I? Where is my other half? And Cirdan... what happened to Cirdan?_

"Elrond!" This voice sounded quite near. "Where are you?"

The elf lifted his head, summoning barely enough energy to answer. "Hello?" he tried to say. But only a hoarse sound escaped him, and more blood dribbled down his chin.

A figure came gradually into view above him, indistinct through the gloom and smoke. A strong pair of hands grasped him under the arms and gently lifted him to his feet.

Elrond I gazed blearily up into the blurred features of Maglor. Fëanor's son was pale with fear, and his voice shook audibly as he spoke again, sobbing quietly.

"I'm sorry, _mellon nin_… I didn't know what to do when I couldn't follow you… forgive me, please…"

Elrond tried to reply, but again could manage only a feeble, croaky noise. Maglor glanced down at the crimson drops trickling down his friend's chin, and caringly wiped the blood off with his own sleeve. The half-elf managed a smile of gratitude, and sent a thought to his friend's mind. _Where is Celebrimbor?_

"He's all right," Maglor replied soothingly. "He's seeing to everyone else. I came back to get you myself."

_And Cirdan?_ the half-elf thought frantically. _Did you see Cirdan anywhere?_

A sob snagged in Maglor's throat. How could he say this?

"I did see him," he replied shakily. "But by the time I reached him, it was too late. There was nothing anyone could do."

_What do you mean?_

Tears flowed soundlessly down the other elf's soot-smudged face as he whispered, "He's dead, Elrond. It looked as though he had been trampled. He lived just long enough to tell me to give you this, before Mandos finally came for him."

Maglor buried a hand in his pocket, and pulled out his closed fist. When he opened it, Elrond I caught a bright flash of gold and scarlet. An ornate ring lay in his friend's palm, wrought of gold, with a blood-red ruby in its band.

The half-elf caught his breath; it was Narya, one of the three Elven Rings of Power. The Ring of Fire.

Elrond I began to weep quietly, his sobs rough and hoarse in his throat. Maglor wrapped his arms gently about him, and together they shared a time of grief for their lost kinsman.

But at length they had to break apart, and the two friends made their way through the dim labyrinth of smoking rubble, to where the others were awaiting them.

----

Cirdan's battered body lay in a small boat shaped like a swan with folded wings. A crowd of elves, all standing in silence, was assembled on the grassy bank of a mighty river for the shipwright's funeral. Once all that could be said had been said, Cirdan would embark on his first, and last, journey to the Sea.

Elrond I had initially been asked to give the shipwright's eulogy, but because he couldn't speak, the obligation passed along to Maglor. The son of Fëanor spoke out in a constantly breaking voice, summarizing the many long years he had spent with his friend to the best of his ability. When he had spoken the last faltering words, Elrond II knelt and loosed the rope that had held the vessel in place for the ceremony.

As the little boat drifted silently down the river, Elrond I gave a rasping sigh and closed his eyes. He wished fervently that the sun would come out. The rain and hail had slacked off to a fine drizzle, and the bruised-looking grey sky above was a perfect match for the shades of his emotions: desolate and lightless.

_Namarië, mellon nin,_ (Farewell, my friend) he whispered to no-one. _I swear that you will not be forgotten._

_----_

Elrond I sighed silently as he stood alone in the brightness of noon. The fine drizzle had finally stopped, and the sun poured her light generously over the ruins of Eregion. But it was nowhere near enough to lift the spirits of the city's former inhabitants, however.

Celebrimbor's people wept bitterly at the sight of the mound of rubble that had been their home for hundreds of years. The half-elf caught snatches of their conversations borne on the wind. They were all anxious, wondering what to do next. The dead had been seen to, and the healers had their hands full tending to the wounded. But they were homeless now, a throng of the destitute.

"Elrond?"

He turned, meeting his own eyes. Elrond II was standing just behind him; he gave a slight cough and spoke hesitantly.

"I, ah, I imagine you're wondering about what happened when you were fighting Sauron earlier. I can explain that. I wasn't sure it would really work, but I was trying to give you some of my power, because I couldn't possibly have reached you in time."

Elrond I frowned. _If you were nowhere near me, how could you possibly know that I was in danger?_

"Some things you just know," Elrond II answered softly. "You're me, after all. I know all of what you feel. I could sense your pain, your fear, your anger."

Elrond I glanced at himself in surprise. _I didn't know we were connected that way. I can feel what you feel, of course, but I didn't know it ran the opposite way._

"I knew," said Elrond II. He paused for a moment, then glanced at his godfather's seared throat. "You should really get that taken care of."

Elrond I nodded, cringing slightly at the blossoming spread of pain through the blistered skin of his neck. Mere seconds later, he caught the perfume of lavender on the breeze, and felt a gentle sensation on his neck, almost like soft fingers. He could feel the blisters disappearing; they didn't burst or peel away, but seemed simply to dissolve into nothing along with the pain.

"Ahh," he sighed gratefully, as the sensation left him. "Thank you, my lady."

Estë materialized in a swirl of grey, nodding her head as Elrond I and II both bowed. Her lavender eyes glimmered with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow, and her voice was soft and kind.

"I am deeply sorry for your loss, Elrond," she told the elf, looking from one pair of eyes to the other. "Please accept my condolences."

"Gladly, my lady," replied Elrond II. "Thank you."

She nodded, her gaze moving to the stricken elves being tended by overwhelmed healers. Vanishing from sight, they felt a slight breeze in her wake as she swept away to see to the wounded.

Elrond II looked up as Maglor approached on silent feet. The elf's face was streaked with tears, and still smeared with cinders. Elrond I addressed him quietly and tenderly.

"That was a beautiful eulogy," he told his comrade. "Cirdan would have been pleased to hear it."

"Thank you," Maglor sighed. "I hoped it was good enough."

"It was much more than that," Elrond II smiled. "It was perfect."

Fëanor's son nodded, gazing out down the river, where Cirdan's funeral boat had sailed. Another sigh escaped him.

"Cirdan once told me he always wanted to see Valinor," he murmured. "He was granted a vision of the shores once, and the Sea sang in his heart ever since. He told me it was both a blessing and a curse." He sighed, and a single tear traced a clean path down his cheek. "No matter which it was, he'll never see Valinor now."

"Lord Mandos' halls are a part of Valinor," Elrond I reminded him. "And no-one can say what they hold. They may seem different to different people. Maybe they hold a paradise that is a mingling of every soul's desires. I don't know."

Maglor nodded. "Do you think Cirdan might see all of Valinor there?"

"We can hope so," replied Elrond I.

There was a heavy pause, and Elrond II spoke up. "We should find a way to contact Gil-galad. He needs to know what's happened here."

Maglor glanced sideways at him, but Elrond II merely nodded as a voice slipped into his mind. _It has already been done. I have told everything to Ereinion._

Elrond I nodded also, having heard the thought as well. _What should we do now, Lord Mandos?_

_Your new home awaits you. Go to Imladris._


	43. What's in a Memory?

**Chapter Forty-Two: What's in a Memory?**

"It's just down here," Elrond I called over his shoulder as he reached the grassy brow of a tall hill. "Is everyone all right back there?"

A general chorus of affirmative shouts rose from the throng of elves that Elrond I and II were leading. The elder half-elf glanced down at his godson with a small smile. "They'll be your people from now on."

"Mine?" Elrond II exclaimed softly in surprise.

"Yes indeed," Elrond I smiled. "You shall be the ruler of this valley's haven: Rivendell, or Imladris." He extended a hand to indicate what lay below the lip of the ridge on which they stood.

Elrond II gasped in awe. The dale was a mottled green carpet stretching on and on below, with a glittering silver-blue river snaking through it like a discarded ribbon. The rumbling song of a waterfall echoed in their ears.

"It's _beautiful,_" the younger half-elf breathed. "It's perfect!"

Elrond I nodded serenely. "It's home."

----

Soon afterward, the city's construction commenced. It was an incredibly demanding task, but everyone pulled his or her weight, and the job was made that much more trouble-free. Whitish-colored stone was gathered from a quarry south of the building site, and brought out by willing hands.

The structures took quite some time to complete and furnish. Much to Elrond's chagrin, a large number of trees were felled to provide wood for tables, chairs and other such things. But it couldn't be helped. Some things were unavoidable. It would be like trying to keep the sun from rising – impossible, except to the Valar.

Everyone took a long while to adjust to their new lifestyle. Elrond I quite often confused the truths of his current existence with those of his past life, and committed such blunders as mistaking Celebrimbor for a clean-shaven Cirdan, which resulted in an onslaught of terrible memories for them both. The jewelsmith was extremely compassionate, and acted quickly to comfort his friend whenever this occurred.

The elves who had formerly resided in Eregion gladly accepted Elrond II as their leader. He was shaping up to be a wise and kindhearted lord, incredibly mild and young at heart. Elrond I couldn't help but weep when he considered what the future would undoubtedly hold in store. Others than Morgoth would eventually seek to steal what he held dear.

----

Elrond I sighed as he trod the cool stone halls of the haven, his mind wandering through a memory. The light of noon, the sounds of elven merriment and the caress of the wind all passed unheeded. Words that had been spoken many weeks ago now floated through his mind, as brightly and clearly as if they had just been uttered…

"_Elrond?"_

"_Hello, Maglor. Is there something I can do for you?"_

_Fëanor's son nodded nervously. "Actually, yes. I was just thinking about… about what happened to Cirdan. When I was watching Lord Mandos take his soul, I instantly began to think about you and your friend, the young elleth who was killed in my house…"_

_Elrond I sighed sorrowfully. "Caranel."_

"_That's it. I was just thinking… did you watch Caranel's soul depart?"_

"_Yes."_

_Maglor nodded. "I supposed as much. Did Lord Mandos let her speak to you at all when she was dead?"_

_Elrond affirmed that, fighting back tears. "Yes. She thanked me for what I'd done for her while she was alive."_

"_Cirdan spoke to me, too," Maglor murmured. "He asked me never to forget him, and he told me that he wanted to be set adrift down the river after his funeral. That's the reason I suggested it then."_

"_I never knew." The half-elf's voice was low and awed. _

_Maglor nodded. "I never thought something like that would happen. When I was – well, before I was redeemed – I just killed without second thoughts. I never considered that the people I slew were **people**, not just nameless faces. I'd get rid of anyone who stood in my way, and Lord Mandos would clean up after me. Those were my only thoughts back then._

"_But things are different these days. I'm not like that anymore, especially not after that morning. I've changed far more than you can imagine. I never once thought that I could be so transformed. I thought my fate was carved in stone."_

_Elrond I was silent. Those were extremely close to his own thoughts. He had expected his second life to be the same as the first – how wrong he had been! Now he had the Valar's guardianship against Morgoth and his servants, and a life-altering disaster had occurred almost a hundred years before it was supposed to! _

_To top it all off, he was now the bearer of a totally different Ring of Power than he once had been. Vilya had once been his; now he was the keeper of Narya. That all had to mean something, didn't it? Surely these events weren't just thrown upon him at random!_

"_What is it?" Maglor asked, noticing the perplexed look on his friend's face._

_The half-elf shook his head dismissively, his face relaxing. "It's nothing. I'm fine."_

A hand coming to rest upon his shoulder brought Elrond gradually out of his reverie. He glanced up, meeting the gaze of the person who had just been in his memories. Maglor's eyes were alight with concern and confusion.

"Are you all right?" he asked carefully.

"I'm fine." Elrond I echoed his thoughts. "Why?"

"You looked puzzled about something."

"Did I?"

Maglor nodded. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

The half-elf shook his head carefully. "No, thank you. I'm all right."

"If you're sure."

Elrond I said nothing. Maglor frowned slightly, but shrugged in defeat. "All right, I won't push you."

_Thank you,_ Elrond thought. He was in no mood to be pushed or prodded to do anything.

But as Maglor turned to walk away, the half-elf called after him. "Wait."

"Yes?" His friend looked back at him, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

Elrond I started to say something, but found that the words he had so wanted to utter had evaporated from his tongue. He sighed, muttering to his knees instead. "Never mind."

----

Maglor glanced uneasily over his shoulder as he brushed past the half-elf, walking away in the other direction. He was convinced that his friend was hiding something from him. Some secrets, he assured himself, were perfectly fine to keep concealed. But he had seen clearly in Elrond's eyes that this particular mystery was hurting him somehow, piercing him deeply.

Maglor hated to watch anyone in anguish, especially when they were being tormented so silently. As if they had long since learned not to scream or to cry out, because such things were considered symptoms of weakness' incurable infection. But Maglor knew far better than that. Weakness was not illness; its degree was not shown by the ability to feel pain, or not to. Strength did not lie only in silent acceptance.

The son of Fëanor sighed, halting abruptly and turning on his heel to pace down another corridor. If Elrond didn't want to open up right away, that was fine with him. But it didn't change his mind. Maybe all that the half-elf needed was some time to himself, and maybe a bit of gentle persuasion. But mostly time.

----

As the years flew on, Elrond I grew more and more anxious, in spite of the peace that was blossoming around Imladris. He recognized the developing pattern in Morgoth's attacks – the assaults were very spaced out, with several hundred years between each of them – but that wasn't the first thing on his mind at the moment. The half-elf couldn't help but worry about how recent events would alter the world he knew.

Cirdan, for example. The shipwright had been much more than a dear friend. In Elrond's past, he had built a great number of ships for the Eldar to sail in to Valinor, including the very last, in which he himself had journeyed. Now, that reality was splintered like broken glass. Who would take his place? Who could?

Elrond I sighed sorrowfully as a tear slipped down his face. Even after so many decades, he had never quite recuperated from his comrade's passing. How _could_ he, with Narya as a constant reminder of that terrible morning?

Immediately his thoughts drifted to Mandos. The Vala forgot nothing that had ever taken place, nor would he lose track of what had yet to take place. Surely he was burdened by the sorrows of the world, now that emotions had been shown to him? It would be far too much for only Nienna to bear, wouldn't it?

_Wouldn't it?_

_----_

Mandos flew invisibly through the sun-dappled corridors of Imladris, ignoring the bright-hued leaves that occasionally blew right through his hovering, incorporeal spirit. He was lost in his thoughts, roaming the halls of his memory even as he drifted through the elves' haven.

_He remembered everything; all that had happened since the first instant of Creation. He saw everything; all that was taking place everywhere in the world. He knew everything; all that would ever occur. Nothing escaped his mind. Nothing._

_Oh, how he wished that it could._

_Of all the things that it was possible to long for, the Doomsman most desired the ability to **forget**. He yearned to be able to push thoughts away and take no notice of them. Only recently had this craving manifested itself… this insatiable hunger. _

_He let his mind filter back through sixteen centuries, and unearthed a conversation that had transpired in the hours before a vast tragedy. It was a conversation between Mandos and his own Creator, Eru. _

_The Father of All had warned – reminded – the Doomsman of Morgoth's plot to attack Elrond. Mandos had had intense doubts; he had contemplated the unthinkable, direct disobedience of his Master. But he had quickly repented, and Eru had gladly granted him forgiveness. _

_And in the present, the Vala was questioning things again. He knew full well that Eru had granted the knowledge of all things to him alone. But Eru must have known **something **he did not. Eru must have decided to reveal emotions to him, for some reason… **Why?**_

_Perhaps he had yet to find out._

----

Celebrimbor couldn't stop thinking about that long-ago, life-shattering morning in what had once been known as Eregion. Sauron had waged war on him; quite some time earlier than expected, if the words of Elrond the First were anything to go by. His home, the only one he had ever known, had been reduced to rubble in no less than twenty minutes. And a dear friend of the uncle he had never known had been killed.

Though he hadn't felt the loss as deeply as some, he knew Cirdan's death to be an utterly unforeseen tragedy. A barrage of thoughts beat a tattoo in his head; relentless, undeniable condemnations.

_Sauron was there for you alone. You should have been the one to die, not the shipwright. You don't deserve to live._

Was that true? Celebrimbor wondered, his heart fluttering. Had Cirdan perished willingly in his stead? Had some secret sacrifice been fulfilled within the ring of fire? The barter of one life for another?

_If it was a sacrifice, _the jewelsmith thought, _I will not let it be in vain._


	44. Slaying the Dreamer

**Chapter Forty-Three: Slaying the Dreamer**

Elrond II sighed to himself as he sipped absently at a cup of sweet wine. He drummed his fingers against the surface of his desk, his gaze fixed on the bright yellow-orange flames that flickered and leapt in the hearth like nimble dancers. Every once in a while a daring spark would jump out at him, only to be extinguished in mid-flight.

The elf's forehead furrowed a little as he mulled over the many thoughts teeming through his brain. So far there had been four assaults on he and his other half, by either Morgoth or his servant. That was only a quarter of the alleged quota, after over seventeen hundred years. And how many more lay ahead of him now?

He let his mind float gently backward through time, to the day he had first discovered his true identity. At sixteen years old, he had learned that he was really the young counterpart of an elf who had seen nearly six and a half millennia and three Ages of the world, two of which were yet to come. And now he, Elrond the Second, was expected to survive those years again – with many prominent differences.

He stared deep into the fire again, letting his thoughts dwell upon it. Almost everything signified by flames and extreme heat had been a rivaling force to he and Elrond I. First there had been Maedhros, his captor and near-murderer, with hair like red embers; now there was Morgoth, using fire and fevers to achieve his ends. According to his godfather, there had been but one exception to the rule so far: the fire-haired elleth, Caranel. She had been a dear friend to Elrond I, before her life had been snuffed out by Maedhros. Flame extinguishing flame.

And now, Elrond II mused, the Ring of Fire had been passed to Elrond I's possession. A significant gift indeed, and yet its purpose was cloaked in mystery. From what Elrond II could recall of Elrond I's stories regarding his prior existence, the half-elf had previously been given Vilya, the Ring of Air, and had used it well to keep Rivendell untarnished. So why, he wondered, would such a change happen, if not for a very important reason? Did the Rings' elements, Air and Fire, have something to do with it?

He jumped as a soft knock sounded on the other side of the door, and the voice of Elrond I called to him. The younger half-elf stood as he regained his composure, calling in reply, "Come in!"

Elrond I entered the room quietly, smiling at his other half. "Ah, here you are. I wonder if I could have a word with you?"

"I was actually wanting to talk with _you,_" Elrond II answered. "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately."

"I know," Elrond I said softly. "Have you forgotten how I can hear your thoughts? Wait a moment… yes, you must have. I can't see it in there." He grinned.

His godson gave a brief smile. "Then you'll know all about my speculations concerning a certain Ring of Power."

Elrond I glanced down at his right hand, which was currently bare of any adornment, and nodded. At the moment, the ring in question was hiding in a small box at the back of his wardrobe, along with the two Silmarils, which Mandos had thoughtfully retrieved from Mithlond for him (along with his chessboard and all its "pieces"). But he was convinced it had been more than a kind gesture; he knew somehow that he would need each of the jewels at some point in his future.

"That's why you've been hiding away in here," he said. "Quiet reflection, right?"

"You tell me."

Elrond I glanced up as a far-off bell chimed out somewhere.

"That's the dinner summons – we'd better be off."

----

Even before Elrond I climbed into bed that night, Tulkas arrived with a familiar pleasant laugh. The Vala seated himself in the chair that was set out at the elf's bedside; he smiled as Elrond nodded to him and remarked, "I'll sleep doubly peacefully tonight."

The Wrestler chuckled. "Many thanks."

Elrond I slowly turned his gaze to the ceiling, where shadows were in the midst of a silent dance, flitting back and forth, and shifting into strange, spiky shapes like bats' wings. The elf gave a sigh and a smile as his eyes became glassy and glazed, reassured that his friend would keep the darkness at bay.

This was perhaps his last thought before he plunged without a sound into the sleep he had become so accustomed to: a deep, velvety oblivion.

Or so he assumed…

----

_Snow crunched beneath his boots and tumbled from the clouded sky above him. Tall trees surrounded him on all sides, every one an evergreen: pine, spruce, cypress, holly. Elrond I frowned slightly at the sound of more footsteps coming from somewhere nearby. Warily he turned toward them, and jumped slightly as Elrond II suddenly emerged from between two trees. Both halves of the same elf regarded each other in confusion. _

"_Elrond?"_

"_Elrond?"_

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_I have no idea! Where are we, anyway?"_

"_I think we're dreaming," said Elrond I quietly, his breath forming a small cloud of fog around his lips. "But **how** we're doing it, I have no idea."_

"_Dreaming?" Elrond II frowned. "That's impossible! It can't be Lord Lórien! After what Lord Manwë said, he wouldn't dare!"_

_Elrond I shrugged. "I don't know. If it's not Lord Lórien, who could it be?"_

_Elrond II held up a hand, cutting him off. A wolf howled mournfully somewhere far away. Elrond II glanced at himself uneasily. "I think we should get moving."_

_The wolf howled again, closer this time, even as they strode through the forest at a brisk pace. Elrond II gave a faint whimper, but jerked his head upward almost instantly as the wolf entered the wood._

_Its entire body bristled with thick black fur. Its long, tapering snout was open, revealing a gaping mouth full of gleaming white fangs; those were being licked by a long red tongue as the beast growled deep in its throat. The eyes set above the snout gleamed an uncanny crimson. The wolf spoke in a terrible, all-too-familiar voice – the voice of Morgoth._

_**Hello, Elrond.**_

----

Tulkas gazed quietly down at Elrond I's sleeping form, and frowned ever-so-slightly. The elf was twitching fitfully, and occasional faint whimpers issued from between his closed lips. His eyes were wide-open and glassy – that was normal – but the Wrestler now saw that they reflected mute terror.

Despite his reputation as a fearless fighter, Tulkas was beginning to grow anxious. Elrond was obviously dreaming – having a nightmare. But that was impossible! He remembered the Council as if it had been yesterday. Manwë had dismissed Irmo for Elrond's sake. He couldn't be back! He would _never_ defy the King!

The Vala held his gaze steadily on Elrond I as he sent out a nervous thought. This was far beyond his knowledge.

Mandos arrived a moment later in a swirl of shadows, his face radiating determination. A single look down at the moaning, jerking elf in the bed, and his fears were confirmed. He spoke to his kinsman in a perfectly level voice.

"We must summon Manwë."

Tulkas had only nodded when the Wind-lord himself appeared in a blue blaze. He moved at once to Elrond I's bedside, laying a hand upon his brow for a moment. He looked up at Mandos, meeting the Doomsman's steady gaze and thoughts. He spoke aloud in reply.

"I cannot. It is too perilous."

_That is what you said about his departure._

"This is worse!"

_It is the only way,_ Mandos replied resolutely. _Only he can save Elrond now. No other can penetrate his subconscious to such a level. You **must** call him back immediately._

The two stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and at last the Wind-lord faltered. "Very well."

He focused his mind upon the one they needed, sending out an urgent call.

_Irmo! You must return!_

The Dream-lord whirled into view like a brewing storm, his grey robes billowing around him. He moved immediately to Elrond's bedside, speaking to Manwë. "What must I do?"

"Morgoth has invaded his mind," Manwë replied. "You alone can rescue him now. Go."

Lórien nodded, placing his right hand on Elrond I's brow. With his left hand he grasped Tulkas' wrist, and shot his elder brother a meaningful look. Mandos understood at once, and clasped the Wrestler's other hand. The Dream-lord drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he let his spirit plunge, pulling the others down along with him as they left their bodies behind.

_Down and down they fell, through the misty layers of Elrond's consciousness, attuned to Lórien's will. Their bodies changed shape rapidly, as the silver-haired Vala wished them to. Each took on a different form as they approached the snow-covered earth of Elrond's dream._

_Tulkas stamped the ground with a cloven hoof as he gazed about, a grin rising to his lips. "Where is that traitor, Morgoth?"_

"_This way," Lórien called, hovering above him on rapidly beating, grey wings. "Follow me!"_

_Mandos soared alongside him, snowflakes dotting his black body with tiny white specks. He and his companions flew and ran swiftly in the direction of the sinister growls in the distance._

_----_

_The Morgoth-wolf bared his fangs in a wicked grin as it closed in on its prey. **Nice to see you again. Too bad your big brother Námo isn't here to save your neck this time. Now you will truly be MINE. Bow before me!**_

"_Never!" cried Elrond II. "You are nothing but a shadow!"_

_**Could any mere shadow do this?**_

_He leapt forward with a snarl. Elrond had barely enough time to draw a breath before a second huge shape thundered toward them, flinging its body full-force against the wolf's. Both halves of the elf staggered back, awed at the spectacle unfolding before them._

_Morgoth was grappling with a huge hart, with a pale golden pelt and the largest antlers Elrond had ever seen in either life – there must have been seven prongs on each. Most unusual of all was that the stag was laughing as it pummeled its foe with strong hoofs. The wolf howled in pain and fury, snapping at the long legs with its teeth, and receiving several broken fangs as the hoofs connected with its jaw._

_Elrond I and II could do nothing but watch in a dumbfounded stupor. But their eyes soon darted away, following the birds that crossed their vision; a raven, and a hummingbird with curious grey feathers. The former moved to assist the stag as the latter approached Elrond._

"_Fear not," it whispered, in a voice that was like nothing the elf would have expected. It was clear and level, rather than high-pitched and fluttery. And neither of the elf's halves could figure out why it was so familiar…_

"_Who are you?" Elrond II asked carefully. "Do I know you somehow?"_

_The hummingbird's reply was strange and cryptic. "I am one who walks unseen, but ever remembered. We have not met in centuries, but you have gazed upon my face every day."_

_Elrond II shared a glance with himself; Elrond I's face was just as blank as his godson's. The bird sighed, blinking its tiny eyes. "You can only see if you wake."_

"_And how are we supposed to do that?" Elrond I frowned._

_The hummingbird spun to look back at the stag and the wolf, who were still wrestling on the snow. Elrond I was glad to notice that the hart was unscathed, and that Morgoth was bleeding in several places. The raven seemed to have gotten several blows in as well; its beak and claws were glistening crimson._

_The hart gave the wolf a final kick, knocking it onto its back, where it lay growling softly. The stag placed a forehoof to its exposed throat, laughing in victory. Then its face turned serious._

"_I am going to let you up now," it said firmly. "If you dare come near Elrond again, you will feel my anger ten times worse than you already have! **Is that** **clear?**"_

_The wolf's reply was a low growl and a grudging nod. Satisfied, the stag slowly let him up. Morgoth climbed laboriously to his feet, lingering only to spit before the stag's hoofs. Then it turned and limped away, not once looking over its bloody shoulders. But they heard a loud CRACK and a yelp of pain when the wolf moved out of sight._

_Elrond I and II walked cautiously up to the great, golden hart, instinctively bowing to it. The animal nodded, laughing again; not in conquest over a foe, but in a heartening way. Its hazel eyes smiled down upon them._

_The raven and the hummingbird, who had been wheeling around the stag's antlers, now hovered in mid-air on either side of the huge animal. Then, slowly, each changed its form in strange swirls of shifting color. The birds grew in size as their wings became arms, and their legs lengthened; the stag shrank slightly as it rose onto its hind legs, and its fur receded from its body, but stayed on its head and face. Soon three tall, humanoid figures stood before them: the Wrestler, the Doomsman, and the Dream-lord._

_Elrond I and II gasped in awe, bowing even lower. The Valar smiled quietly, and Lórien spoke. "Get up. Now is the time to wake."_

_Together the four comrades clasped hands, and the Dream-lord drew them slowly back up to their waiting bodies in the conscious world._


	45. Fraternity and Fear

**Chapter Forty-Four: Fraternity and Fear**

Manwë smiled in relief as the four figures in and around the bed gasped for breath, their eyes fluttering as their spirits returned to their bodies. The three Valar stepped back as the elf sat up, rather blearily. He gazed silently at Tulkas, then Mandos (who still had blood on his lips), and held his eyes on Lórien.

"Am I still dreaming?" Elrond I asked shakily.

The Dream-lord shook his head gently, a sad smile rising to his lips. "No, Elrond, you are wide awake. I'm here." He clasped his friend's hand lovingly in his own, as tears flowed down both of their faces.

The half-elf looked up, meeting the calm eyes of the three Valar who had helped him. He sent out thanks to each of them, smiling at their gentle replies.

Elrond I glanced down at a faint tickling sensation on his right shoulder. He smiled as the diminutive form of little Lórien clambered up to his collarbone. The Dream-lord himself laughed softly, saying, "There I am."

"Who told you?" the elf frowned, looking up at his friend.

"Námo did," Lórien replied calmly, interestedly watching the tiny replica of himself walk up his arm. "He has been giving me updates on occurrences here for the past seventeen hundred years. I've been delivering dreams and visions from afar, to resist… temptation."

Elrond nodded. "I see. So, I suppose we don't have too much catching up to do."

The Dream-lord frowned as Elrond I opened the top drawer of his bedside cupboard. The elf nodded to little Lórien, who leapt lightly from the real Vala's shoulder onto his hand. Elrond lowered his hand to the lip of the drawer, saying, "It's good to see you back in the game."

The miniature Dream-lord descended Elrond's fingers and stepped down into the drawer, where he was welcomed warmly by his fourteen colleagues. The tiny Morgoth snarled in silent rage.

Mandos shared a wordless look with Tulkas, and the two of them vanished softly. Manwë lingered, however, and laid a hand on Lórien's shoulder, speaking rather hesitantly as the Vala turned to him.

"Irmo," he began, "I owe you a sincere apology. I realize now that I was much mistaken in dismissing you from Elrond's trust. Had it not been for your actions tonight, he would surely have been claimed by Morgoth." He carefully met his kinsman's eyes. "I ask your forgiveness."

"And I gladly grant it to you," the Dream-lord replied graciously.

"Thank you," the Wind-lord smiled gratefully. He glanced momentarily down at Elrond I before speaking again. "I believe Elrond deserves a peaceful respite for the remainder of tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

Lórien nodded, smiling as he stretched out his right hand. "I would."

The elf couldn't help but notice how tenderly the Vala's fingers stroked his cheek before coming to rest gently upon his forehead. Elrond smiled as his comrade inquired, "Is there anything specific you would like to see?"

"Why don't we start off with our 'usual', and then you can decide from there?" Elrond I suggested.

Lórien laughed quietly, his pale blue eyes glimmering. "Very well."

----

_As they stepped out onto the pale ledge above the dark whirlpool of slumber, Elrond I struck up a conversation with his friend. "What was that strange cracking noise I heard after Lord Tulkas banished Morgoth from my dream?"_

_The Dream-lord chuckled rather impishly. "It was an icicle striking his shoulder. I could not resist the temptation to land a blow upon him."_

_Elrond couldn't mask his spite. "I hope it hurt."_

_There was a moment of silence before the elf spoke up again, now nervous. "Sire?"_

"_Yes?"_

_Elrond I had to force his tongue to move and form his next words. "If it wasn't you who sent the nightmare, then who was it?"_

_The Vala hesitated slightly before answering, "It was Morgoth."_

"_**Morgoth **can send dreams?" Elrond cried in horror._

_Lórien nodded. "Yes. It is your sad fate to be assailed by one who was once the mightiest of the Valar, the one with the powers of nearly all of the other Ainur together. Including mine."_

_The half-elf took this in slowly. Morgoth could readily march into his mind – but so could Lord Lórien. Perhaps his nights would be safer now than they had been, with the Dream-lord's protection._

_Lórien smiled as they reached the edge of the protrusion. "Shall we?"_

_The elf nodded, swinging down and clinging to the stone with one hand. The Vala began the familiar sing-song lullaby Elrond had all but forgotten, reaching down to pluck away his fingers one by one. _

_Just as he was about to fall, the half-elf gazed up at Lórien and smiled._

"_Thank you, my lord… for everything."_

_The Vala smiled back, gently pushing Elrond's forefinger away from the ledge. "Pleasant dreams,_ tôr nin_." (my brother)_

----

Elrond II awoke before dawn, frowning through the darkness. The once-merry fire in the hearth was no more than a heap of crumbling ashes. The elf sighed in annoyance, pulling his blanket tighter around his body and trying to fall asleep again. When slumber refused to grant him the favor, he sat up, stepped into a pair of slippers and proceeded to roam the dusky corridors of the sleeping haven.

It had snowed a great deal during the night; the icy white crystals lay in huge drifts in the valley. The light of the full moon made them blaze like tiny flakes of silver. A flicker of shadow upon the otherwise unmarred whiteness caught his attention; he followed it with interested eyes. It was the shadow of a dancer.

The figure of a tall woman leapt and twirled over the sparkling mounds, her feet kicking up spindrifts of powdery snow. Her hair and skirt streamed out behind her like shadowy banners in the wind; in contrast, her pale skin glowed ghostly white in the moonlight. She turned to face him, and he saw that it was Nessa.

The Valië smiled as he bowed respectfully to her, pausing momentarily and extending her hand to him. "Will you join me?"

"I would be most honored to, my lady," Elrond II replied, rising and striding toward her.

As they met, they joined hands and began a new dance. It began slowly, and increased to a rapid pace. They whirled beneath the moon and stars, their shadows mingling, skirt and nightshirt billowing as snow flew up around their silent feet.

When they came to a brief halt, Elrond was panting slightly while Nessa was tireless. The elf flushed as he apologized.

"Forgive me for not possessing your stamina, my lady."

Nessa gave a cheery laugh. "Of course."

Elrond II stared out to the east, where the horizon was beginning to turn to pale gold. "Is that the sun already?"

"It is," the Valië affirmed, following his gaze. She looked back at him, gave him a swift once-over and laughed again, good-naturedly. "You had best put on some proper clothing for today."

Elrond blushed a second time, bowing as he turned to go. "Yes, of course. Good day, my lady."

----

Seated next to himself at the breakfast table, Elrond I nudged his other half in the arm as Elrond II raised his fork to his mouth. "What were you up to last night?"

"Right before dawn, you mean? I was just dancing in the snow."

"With whom, exactly?"

Elrond II washed down his mouthful with a small sip of wine before replying, "Only the greatest dancer in all of Arda."

"Ah," Elrond I nodded. "That explains why I'm so worn-out this morning, in spite of that lovely dream I had last night."

"'_Lovely_'?" Elrond II repeated in disbelief. "I really hope you're not talking about… _that_ one."

"_No,_ no! I mean afterwards – the one Lord Lórien gave me."

Elrond II flinched in surprise as he raised his wineglass to his mouth; the goblet clicked a little against his teeth, and a few drops of the deep red liquid dripped down his chin.

"_What?_" he exclaimed, forcing his voice to a whisper as he reached for a handkerchief.

Elrond I frowned. "The one Lord Lórien–"

"_Who?_"

"You can't seriously not know!"

"You mean he's–?" Elrond II's eyes widened.

Elrond I nodded. "Yes. He's back – for good this time." The elder half-elf sighed quietly. "And I've got a lot of adjusting to do. This is the first night I've had a dream in seventeen hundred years."

"Not to mention the brotherhood thing," his godson added.

Elrond I's eyes clouded slightly. "Yes… that, too."

'The brotherhood thing' had been swimming around the half-elf's mind ever since he had been told of it by Varda. He knew that he and Lord Lórien shared deep fraternal love, as did the Dream-lord and his older brother. And that brother, Lord Mandos, felt for Elrond himself as well.

It was a strong, profound triangle, and there might have been other links in the chain: for instance, Varda, his "aunt". If all that was so, he mused, then wouldn't Lords Mandos and Lórien also be her nephews, and maybe Lady Nienna her niece? And Lord Manwë would be his uncle… the uncle he'd never had.

Elrond I sighed yet again. The thought of his mother's lost brothers made his mind coast toward Elwing herself. She was still waiting back in Mithlond. Had Lord Mandos told her that he was safe?

_Fear not, she knows about your well-being,_ murmured Mandos' reassuring voice in his head. _I have told her everything._

The half-elf sighed, relieved. _Very well._

_----_

_Elrond I floundered uselessly in a shapeless grey nothing, trying to disentangle himself from the gossamer veil of a dream. A face swam before him, its appearance changing and shifting constantly. It was fair-skinned, with pointed ears and silver hair… the eyes were pale blue… no, dark blue… no, now they were turquoise… was there a beard or not?_

"_Who **are** you?" the half-elf cried out in confusion._

_The person, whoever he was, spoke in a clear, familiar voice, fraught with sorrow. "Have you forgotten me already, _mellon nin_?"_

_His vision cleared, and Elrond found himself staring at Cirdan. The shipwright gazed at him adamantly, his eyes urgent. "Follow me."_

"_Where to?" Elrond I asked. "There's nowhere to go!"_

_As though it had been itching to make a liar out of him, a road unrolled below him like a long, wide ribbon. The path seemed to stretch on for endless miles before him, but when he looked back, Elrond found that it ended just past his heels. He gave a huff of confused exasperation._

"_We can't go back," Cirdan told him firmly, "only forward. Follow me."_

"_Where are we going?" the half-elf asked._

"_You have walked this path before," the bearded elf answered cryptically. "As did I, in a former existence that is now nothing more than a fading memory. You should know."_

_Elrond I fell silent, and strode mutely along in his friend's footsteps, lost in a labyrinth of thought. From what he had just heard, his friend had known about his past life, and had acknowledged it carelessly. But that was impossible – he had never been told! **Had he?**_

_He risked a glance over his shoulder, noticing the road evaporate behind him with every step. He turned his eyes to the front again, seeing that the path ahead was cloaked partly in shadow, but with a great light beyond. Cirdan was unsettlingly quiet as they walked._

_The shipwright halted so abruptly that Elrond walked into him. Cirdan gave a long sigh, and stepped away from the path, onto the grey void._

"_I can lead you no further," he said regretfully. "You must make the rest of this journey alone."_

"_How?" cried Elrond I, fear bubbling in his heart. "I don't know where the road goes, I don't know what's ahead! Everything's changing! Tell me what to do!"_

_Cirdan smiled compassionately, giving the fearful elf a gentle hug before stepping back slightly and starting to vanish into the emptiness. "Follow in my footsteps; walk where you know I walked before."_

"_I don't remember where you walked!" the half-elf wailed miserably. "Please don't go!"_

"_Oh, Elrond…"_

_The shipwright's arms were around him once more, and the turquoise eyes gazed deeply into his. His voice was soft and comforting._

"_You have other friends than me," he whispered. "They will be the light to help you see the path ahead. Just trust them. It will be all right… I swear this to you."_

_Elrond nodded mutely, burying his face in his friend's shirt as tears rolled down his face. "Thank you, _mellon nin._"_


	46. Shadows of Doubt

**Chapter Forty-Five: Shadows of Doubt**

Elrond I awoke with tears pouring silently down his face. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he looked up and met the kind, sad gaze of Lórien. The Vala was seated at his bedside, in the chair which the elf had set out years before as a kind of tribute to his relationship with the Dream-lord, in memory of those long-past years in Mithlond. Now, Lórien sighed in remorse as he saw his friend's pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as tears slid down his face one by one. "You bear such a great burden already, and I am only increasing it…"

"It's not your fault," Elrond I said gently, sitting up and reaching over to touch the Vala's shoulder. "None of this is your fault. It's not because of Lord Mandos, Lord Manwë, or anyone else. If Eru has a plan for me, then He has a plan, and I can't do a thing but accept it."

Lórien gave a small, rather watery smile and a faint laugh. "You need not address me as 'sire'. I believe we have known each other long enough to begin taking steps to bring us even closer together. Please, call me by my name."

The half-elf nodded, smiling quietly. "Very well, then… Lórien."

The Dream-lord glanced out of the bedroom window, noting that the ebony sky was still glittering with stars. Dawn was a long way off.

"Go back to sleep," the Vala murmured, laying his hand on Elrond I's brow again. "There are still many hours of the night left to pass."

The elf nodded in obedient silence, knowing he had little chance of fighting dreams. His eyes glazed over as he plunged again into slumber, leaving Lórien sitting wide awake at his side.

"I envy you," sighed a low voice from behind the Vala's chair.

Lórien turned, frowning up at Mandos. "You envy me? Why?"

"You are so fortunate," the Doomsman replied softly. "You and Elrond appear to be the perfect pair… the perfect brothers."

"You are _my_ brother as well, and Elrond's!"

"Maybe so," said Mandos, "but Elrond and I have nothing of a bond so deep as what you share with him. Even when you were not here, Elrond's concerns were for you, not me."

"Only because he did not know of your feelings at that time!" cried Lórien, getting to his feet and facing the other Vala. "It does not matter now!"

"It does," the Doomsman murmured. "You are deeply connected to him, Irmo. The direct sending of dreams, these nightly 'sessions', they all serve to fortify your shared fraternity. You fill his nights with bliss, while I… I am the cause of his sorrow, taking from him the people he holds most dear. He can never truly love me… not while I continue this."

Lórien's eyes brimmed with tears, and he reached out to his brother. "Oh, Námo…"

Mandos slowly drew back from him. "Do not waste your tears on me, brother."

"_Waste_ them?" cried the Dream-lord. "Would you say that of Fui, if you saw her weeping for you?"

The dark-eyed Vala's eyes flickered, but he remained mute. Lórien stepped purposefully forth, forcing his brother to move back. Soon the Doomsman's back was pressed against the wall. His younger brother held him in place with his gaze, allowing his tears to stream freely down his cheeks.

"Do you see these?" Lórien asked, pointing to the rivulets of moisture. "They are tears – _my_ tears – shed for you, and you alone."

"Why?" whispered Mandos, his voice tremulous, and his own eyes moistening. "Why?"

The silver-haired Vala's voice was forcibly firm as he replied.

"I love you, Námo. I love you just as deeply as I love Elrond. I have loved you since the beginning of the Beginning, and I will love you until the very end of the End. Differences in strength, authority, emotion… they mean nothing to me. I love you, regardless of who you are; I love you as my elder brother… as the Doomsman, and Keeper of the Dead… as another son of the Thought of Eru. _I love you._"

Mandos was utterly silent, his whole body quaking as tears poured soundlessly down his pale face. His eyes were closed, his head bowed. When he looked up at last, it was with a gleam of new understanding in his eyes and his soul. He stared mutely at his brother; the had not moved, and still stood in a sort of tearful defiance. His lower lip trembled just a little, but soon stiffened.

Mandos took a tentative step forward, then another. Lórien stayed where he was, moving only when the Doomsman suddenly wrapped him in a tight, fond embrace, and whispered hoarsely in his ear.

"Knowledge and comprehension are two entirely different things," he said shakily. "This knowledge has ever been with me, but only now have I been granted true understanding." He drew back a little, gazing sincerely into his brother's eyes, hardly caring anymore that he was weeping.

"Thank you, Irmo… for everything."

----

Elrond I wandered down to breakfast the next morning lost in a mist of memory. Cirdan's voice rang in his mind like a clear tolling bell: _Follow my footsteps; walk where you know I walked before._

The half-elf halted, shivering, even though he wasn't cold. If the shipwright's words had truly meant what Elrond thought they had, then he, Elrond I, was to…

"Elrond?"

The voice snapped his thoughts as though they were brittle threads. He turned, nodding to Maglor as the other elf approached. Elrond I couldn't help but notice the haunted look in his friend's eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm actually not sure," the son of Fëanor answered. "I had a strange dream last night… I dreamt I was talking to Cirdan."

Elrond I's heart skipped. "So did I! What did he say to you?"

"He told me that… that you were destined to walk where he would have, if he had lived. But he said that you wouldn't be able to do everything, though, so I was supposed to help you by doing what you couldn't. What do you think he meant by that?"

Elrond I's voice shook. "Cirdan told me very much the same thing, but he didn't mention you directly. He just said that I'd have friends to guide me. I know it may sound horrible, but I think… I think, somehow, Cirdan was _meant_ to die in Eregion, so we could fulfill a plan that Eru Himself is laying out for us."

Maglor's face grew slightly pale as he replied, "Then I suppose we have no choice but to do our best."

----

The years paced on, and on… and on. A quiet serenity had settled over Rivendell and the lands around it, but fear and foreknowledge nagged constantly at Elrond I's heart. He felt he knew at least a slight amount of the darkness that was soon to come, and the weight of Morgoth's attacks did nothing to alleviate his worry.

Elrond I had gotten into the habit of checking on his chessboard daily. The pieces moved around the squares, as they always did, but he wasn't concerned about that. His gaze was fixed upon the twin rows of "black" pieces; Morgoth and his minions. The figures of the ex-Vala and his right-hand servant had not changed, nor had the fourteen wispy shadows around them.

But the half-elf knew without uncertainty what at least nine of the smoky shapes would eventually become…

----

Elrond II glanced neither left nor right as he strode briskly through the halls of his haven, never once pausing to marvel at the splendor of the dawning springtime. He ignored the pale buds and shoots that poked their sleepy heads up from the damp, sun-warmed earth; the drip-dripping of cool water from last night's rainfall from the eaves to the paved paths below passed unheeded as well.

It had been nearly five hundred years since Morgoth's incursion of Elrond's dreams, and more than fifty years since the ex-Vala's latest attack, which had been successfully halted by Oromë. _Six down, ten to go._

"Elrond?"

Elrond II jumped slightly and stopped in his tracks, turning to see who had interrupted his train of thought. He smiled when he met Maglor's eyes. "Good morning! How are you, _mellon nin?_"

"Fine, thank you," the son of Fëanor replied pleasantly. "And yourself?"

"Satisfactory. Have you seen Elrond the First anywhere, by chance?"

"I'm sorry, but I haven't. Is something wrong? Should I pass on a message?"

"It's not too urgent," Elrond II assured him. "Don't worry about it. I'll find him sooner or later."

"If you insist."

The half-elf started to speak again, but was cut off by the chime signaling that dinner was ready. He shrugged, beckoning for his friend to follow him. "Are you hungry?"

"Very," Maglor nodded, following him down to the dining hall.

When the two elves arrived, many others were already there. Elrond II scanned all of the tables, seeing with a swiftly sinking heart that his other half was nowhere to be found. He was _never_ late for dinner – not before today, at least.

"Perhaps he's not well," Maglor suggested, as a possible excuse for the elf's absence. It appeared he had been searching the room as well.

"Elves don't get sick, Maglor," Elrond II reminded his comrade. "And in any case, he's a healer. Even if he was ill or injured, which is most improbable, he would surely be able to patch himself up."

Maglor shrugged as they sat down in two adjacent, empty seats. "Has Elrond been acting at all unusually lately?"

The half-elf fell into a pensive silence. Now Maglor mentioned it, Elrond II remembered that his elder self had indeed been acting rather oddly. In fact, when was the last time he had seen himself out of his bedroom during the day, except during mealtimes? Certainly not recently.

Elrond II looked up as the door to the dining hall swung open, admitting none other than Elrond I. The elf looked especially tired, but a strange gleam was in his eyes. He hurried to the table as Maglor waved him over, and took a seat next to his younger self.

"Are you all right?" Maglor asked in concern, noting the contrast between Elrond I's wan face and his glinting eyes. "Is something the matter?"

Elrond I took a long draught of wine before replying rather hoarsely, "Nothing, nothing. I just didn't sleep well last night."

But he sent out a secretive thought to his other half: _Come to my bedroom after dinner. I have something gravely important to show you._

----

"You, ah… you wanted to see me? Something important, is it?"

"Yes, yes," Elrond I nodded, waving his hand to indicate that his younger self should step into the room, and not linger on the threshold. "Come here, come here."

"Is there an echo in here?" Elrond II frowned, taking a cautious step forward.

"In here? No, no! Come closer!"

Frowning in confusion, Elrond II advanced warily, moving up to the chest of drawers by Elrond I's bed. He noticed that the top drawer was slightly open, allowing a steady blaze of light and a whiff of lavender to stream out into the room.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" the younger elf asked.

"Look there, there!" replied Elrond I, his voice quaking with what sounded bizarrely like excitement as he pointed into the drawer. "What do you see around Morgoth?"

Elrond II leaned closer to what his godfather was indicating, his eyebrows forming two graceful arches. "Nine black robes?"

"Nine _empty_ black robes," Elrond I corrected him, an uncanny smile on his lips. "Do you have any idea what they are? Any idea?"

Nonplussed, the younger half-elf shook his head mutely. Elrond I nodded. "No, eh? Well, I do. They're Morgoth's newest minions: Nazgûl, or Ring-wraiths."

"Ring-wraiths?" Elrond II repeated. "Why does that sound vaguely familiar?"

"I've told you about them before," Elrond I told him. "They were once Men, great Kings of Men. They were corrupted by Sauron, and are now his slaves. They are not among the living, but neither are they dead. _Un_-dead, you might call them."

"You sound _happy_ to see them," said his godson in concern. "Are you sure you're feeling all right? Should I call Lady Estë?" He reached up to feel Elrond I's forehead.

Elrond I quickly sidestepped away from himself. "No, thank you, I'm quite healthy – and quite _sane_, for your information," he added with a sideways glance at Elrond II. "No, this turned out much better than I would have hoped. Much better."

"Kindly explain."

"Well," the elder half-elf began, lowering his voice dramatically, "we are the first to see these creatures. And I possess a great deal of memories of them from my past life, all of which I could easily pass off as Foresight."

"So?"

"_So,_" his godfather went on, "wouldn't it be useful to warn others of this? The wraiths are relentless in whatever they set their minds to. They'll stop at nothing, for they can almost never be stopped."

"_Almost_ never? There are exceptions?"

Elrond I smiled mirthlessly. "Not many, I promise you. The Nazgûl may be undead, but, ironically enough, at least one of them can be slain. That one is the most powerful of the nine."

"Ironic, indeed," Elrond II nodded. "So, who should we warn first?"


	47. Fires of Midnight

**Chapter Forty-Six: Fires of Midnight**

Like a wildfire over dry grass, news of the Ring-wraiths spread rapidly through Imladris and to the realms far beyond. Letters were written and sent west to Mithlond, and south to Lothlòrien and Greenwood the Great. The messages were thick with caution and counsel, advice and warnings, and snippets of Elrond I's memory disguised as Foresight.

Gil-galad was the first to respond, telling Elrond of his immense gratitude that the half-elf had gotten word out so swiftly. The answering messages from the two forest realms held equal appreciation, and promises that Elrond's forewarnings would not be wasted.

The Nazgûl didn't make any exceptionally obvious appearances to the elves as time crept by, but signs of their ominous presence seemed to be everywhere. Many young children complained of nonstop nightmares. And many elves, both old and young claimed to have been roused in the dead of night by an unearthly screech resonating through the air – the voice of a wraith, beyond doubt.

Imladris' very atmosphere slowly tightened, like a bowstring being stretched out. Elrond I was the most anxious by far; he could often be seen pacing the halls of the haven, head bowed, mumbling under his breath as though to no-one. Many of Rivendell's inhabitants wondered whether their ruler's godfather was losing his wits, cracking under the tension.

Luckily, the half-elf's mind was whole. It was his heart that was spinning out of control: the undeniable burden of Morgoth's attacks, his deep affection for Lórien, the feelings for Mandos that he was struggling to come to terms with, and the new influence of Cirdan's destiny. All that, coupled with the knowledge of this new embryonic evil, planted a black seed of despair deep in his heart. The thing was beginning to germinate… and quickly.

Years passed in Imladris and everywhere else, but the Nazgûl still refrained from striking the elves openly. News of their attacks had been confirmed elsewhere, but not in the deep valley. Was it coincidence, or something more? Either way, the elves were thankful for it. Thankful, but even so, more than a little concerned. Was this just the deep breath before a deadly plunge? The words echoed more and more frequently on tongues and in hearts and minds. This peace couldn't last forever, could it? Nothing lasted forever.

----

Elrond II curled into a ball underneath his blankets, trying unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. He wasn't quite sure what had woken him. Had he been dreaming? His mind was a little fuzzy. He shut his eyes and shuddered as something nagged insistently at his mind; something in his brain almost physically hurt. Something somewhere was very wrong, he was in no doubt.

He rose silently from the bed, stepped into his slippers and picked up the glowing candle that stood on his bedside table. The cool night air embraced him like an old friend as he stepped out into its gloom. But he had taken only a few steps before a voice arrived in his ears – his own voice. The tones were laden with breathless fear… no, not fear. Horror.

"…it can't be… don't let it happen, not again… I've tried so hard…"

There was a brief span of almost complete silence, and then Elrond I spoke out distantly again, his voice now wavering with sobs.

"Please, is there not some other way? Can't I at least _warn_ him of this?"

His mouth drying out in pure dread, Elrond II advanced in the direction of his godfather's voice. The short silence came again, and then Elrond I wept a third time, this time in clear relief.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! Yes, I'll do it immediately! Yes, sir!"

The half-elf's voice was emanating from behind a closed door. Unknown to Elrond I, his godson moved up to the threshold and paused there. His hand, ready to knock, hovered in midair as he faltered slightly. But at last he gathered his nerve and followed through. His knuckles rapped thrice on the wood as Elrond II's voice slipped through the crack under the door.

"Elrond?"

There was a moment of breathless quiet, and then the door burst outward with such force that Elrond II was nearly knocked off his feet. He found himself wrapped in his own arms before he'd even regained his footing, the snuffed-out candle lying forgotten on the floor beside him.

Elrond I was holding him, but clutching was probably a better word to describe the elder elf's desperate grip. Elrond II gasped urgently as the breath was slowly squeezed from his lungs, and pushed hard against his godfather's torso in a silent plea of _get off!_

Elrond I eventually caught the hint, and released his younger counterpart quickly. Only at that moment did the younger half-elf fully perceive the stark terror in the widened eyes of his other half.

"What is it?" cried Elrond II. "What's wrong? Who were you just talking to? Tell me!"

Elrond I gripped his godson painfully by the shoulders and stared into his shadowed face, their noses all but rubbing together as he sobbed out his message.

"You have to help me," he cried frantically. "I must warn… I have to find—"

"Warn who of what?" Elrond II asked. "What's wrong? Calm down a bit and answer me, please."

Elrond I took a moment to recover himself. When he did, he was obviously struggling to remain in a relatively composed state.

"The Nazgûl are coming out of the East," he said, very shakily, "all nine of them. They're on the way here, and they aren't stopping. They'll be here by midnight tomorrow night, and they will do anything to get into Imladris. But they're only after one person."

"Who?" Elrond II whispered, his worst fears scribbling themselves across his features.

"They aren't worried about us," said Elrond I, "yet. Right now they're after…"

He gulped, unable to finish the phrase aloud. He leaned deliberately toward his godson's ear, and whispered the victim's name.

Elrond II blanched, very slowly, and couldn't suppress a moan of horror and disbelief.

"_Celebrimbor…_"

----

"Are you sure this is necessary?" Celebrimbor called for the tenth time, raising his voice to be heard through the bedroom door as he gave the makeshift barricade a final push into position. "It's not as if they know I'm here."

"But their _master_ does," Elrond I shouted back. "And he's the one who sent them on their merry way. Is the barricade in place? Do you have enough fire and weapons?"

"The barricade's firm. I have five torches and two swords here," Celebrimbor answered, "and a large fire burning in the hearth. If they do manage to get in, I'll be ready."

Elrond II glanced out of the nearest window at the thick darkness. The moon was steadily ascending the staircase of the starry heavens. Time for some last-minute preparations, and then it was all down to the waiting.

A tall elf with golden-brown hair rushed up to him, panting slightly as he bowed his head and spoke. "I've situated archers on every wall, sire: north, south, east and west. They all have fire with them, and other weapons in case there's need for hand-to-hand combat."

"Let's hope things don't come to that," said Elrond II, smiling gratefully and nodding to the elf. "Good work, Erestor."

"Thank you, sir."

----

The moon bathed the valley in a cool silver radiance, belying the fact of the approaching danger. Imladris was quiet, but it was the quietness of fearful expectancy. All entrances to the haven had been barricaded for safety's sake. Scores of elves, armed with bows and arrows, swords and torches, stood like so many sentient statues on the battlements. Those elves on the east wall, selected for the very keenest eyesight, held their gazes steady and vigilant.

"Do you see anything?" Elrond II whispered into the ear of an archer named Nemthen.

"Not yet, sire," Nemthen answered in a low voice, without moving his head. "But we've been hearing them for the past ten minutes… that has to mean something."

The young half-elf willingly joined the watchers, scouring the land and the horizon with his eyes. Was that a flicker of shadow coming nearer, etched darkly against the whiteness of the moonlight? Did it have four legs? Was a black cloak billowing out in its wake?

_Yes._

At a mute nod from Elrond II, two of the archers loaded their bows with kindled arrows, and slowly pulled back on the strings. The air they breathed was completely still, as if the very world were holding its breath. The lord of Imladris was like a hunting hawk sighting its prey, ready at a word to strike.

He turned his eyes again to the approaching shadow, a lone black figure galloping toward Rivendell. An undead horseman, who would soon be all but invisible in the blackness of night as it slunk into the shadows again.

How can you vanquish an unseen foe?

_Make it seen._

"Fire."

The word hissed from the half-elf's lips as he issued the command to shoot. Two arrows whizzed into the night, blazing like comets. One shaft was aimed at the rider, the other at the horse. Both met their marks with deadly accuracy; the black stallion crumpled to the ground and lay there lifelessly as the wraith's robe was set ablaze.

Nearly imperceptible smoke rose into the sky, carrying with it a stench of burning cloth. Screeching terribly in anger, the Nazgûl floundered uselessly as its clothing crumbled to ashes.

Elrond II smiled grimly. "That's one taken care of."

Nemthen turned to him, frowning in confusion. "I thought the wraiths couldn't be killed, sir?"

"They can't, you're right," the young elf nodded. "But without a way to take bodily form, and lacking a steed to carry it, that wraith will have to flee back to Mordor as a spirit, and it won't bother us again for a long time." He paused momentarily, then added, "I hope."

The archer glanced at him uneasily, and turned mutely to face the horizon again. But his eyes slowly grew wide, and he stammered to the elf-lord: "What were you saying about the wraiths not bothering us?"

Elrond II gasped in horror, for eight shadows now rode past where only one had faltered. The half-elf cursed his own stupidity; the wraiths must have come while his attention was upon Nemthen.

"Load your bows!" he roared to the elves. "_Fire!_"

----

Barricaded in his own bedroom, Celebrimbor could hear nothing more than the sounds of his own shaky breaths, his throbbing heartbeat and the constant crackling of the flames in the hearth. He had heard the wraith's screams even from back here, but the resonance had soon died away.

Perhaps that was it, the jewelsmith thought. Maybe the counter-attack had been so quick and abrupt that the wraiths had been forced to take flight.

This last notion cheered him significantly. Celebrimbor was finally able to relax. He sank down onto his bed, setting his sword aside for the moment and laying his head serenely down on the feather pillow.

_Maybe, _he thought to himself as his eyes glazed over, _Elrond's warning was for nothing. It may be that he was wrong, that I'll be safe._

----

Arrows pierced the black midnight sky as they showered down in a steady hail upon the approaching Nazgûl. But the smoke that arose from the wraiths' smoldering robes, along with many horses' carcasses, placed a rather effective hamper upon the elves' efforts by stinging their eyes, noses and throats.

The stench was intolerable; many archers ceased fire to rummage for handkerchiefs with which to cover their faces. But even with that means of defense, the reprisal was grinding to a halt, and not slowly. Only two wraiths remained mobile out of the eight that had charged. These advanced on foot, their horses having been slain, but they had been lucky enough not to have had their robes cremated.

The Nazgûl slipped silently through the shadows, perfectly hidden. Arrows still peppered them, but the shafts were unlit; the elves had perceived the possible danger to their haven. Now that their enemies were so close, fire could mean death to the elves and destruction to the buildings. The people of Imladris were indeed between a rock and a hard place; danger lay before them with either option.

Step by soundless step the wraiths approached, each passing second bringing them closer and closer to their prey. They only wanted one elf out of the many, and they would stop at nothing get that one… the jewelsmith.


	48. Taking Lives

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Taking Lives**

The Nazgûl crept ever closer to the haven's east entrance, rendered completely invisible by the thick blanket of darkness. No-one could see or hear them now. Their target was so close now, they could almost smell his rushing blood. Celebrimbor would be dead before the hour was past.

The wraiths' robes whispered over stone as they reached the threshold. One raised a hand to try the door; it was shut tightly and locked. They would have to find another way in. A window, perhaps? Yes, that might do.

The first wraith raised his hand again, feeling silently along the wall. There were a great number of small openings, but none large enough for the Nazgûl to fit through. All of the larger gaps had all been barricaded, it seemed.

The second wraith turned to its partner, speaking softly to it in the speech of Mordor. The first nodded in silence at the new information it had been given. They had no real bodies; walls and windows scarcely mattered to them. They could get in easily.

And they did, without anyone knowing.

----

_Draw back from the walls! The wraiths have breached your defenses!_

Elrond II flinched visibly as the cry burst into his unsuspecting mind, a voice fraught with desperation. Mandos!

The half-elf knew better than to delay obedience. He roared to the others, "Pull back! The wraiths are inside! Pull back!"

He himself leapt ahead of his people, and was soon joined by Elrond I. They ran together, hearts pounding as one, knowing just where the wraiths were headed.

----

_Awake, Celebrimbor! Danger is approaching!_

The imperative voice slashed through the jewelsmith's dreams like a knifeblade through a thin cloth. Celebrimbor jerked awake, snatching up his sword even before he was entirely conscious. He leapt from the bed and stood facing the barricaded door, which was now shuddering beneath a hail of blows from the other side. The wood was steadily cracking.

The silver-haired elf backed up a few paces, picking up an unlit torch from the desk and thrusting the end into the hearth. The firebrand flared to life immediately, crackling and spitting sparks. He braced himself for what he knew was to come… there was no backing down now.

"Come on," the jewelsmith snarled under his breath. "Get in here."

They got in.

----

Elrond I and II hurtled down the corridors of Imladris side-by-side, driven by nothing but adrenaline and fear. They unsheathed their swords as they ran, eyes fixed upon that which they least wanted to see…

The Nazgûl had reached Celebrimbor's bedroom and knocked the barricade aside. Both of Elrond's halves sobbed in horror as the hems of the wraiths' robes disappeared into the room. They couldn't be too late… they _couldn't_ be…

Inside the room, Celebrimbor stood his ground as the two robed figures advanced with swords drawn. The flames from the elf's torch were reflected off of the steel of all three adversaries' blades. The Nazgûl seemed to be wary of the fire, but willing to ignore it to complete their task.

Celebrimbor's heart slightly relaxed its galloping pace as a reassuring voice whispered in his mind: _Don't worry – help is coming! Stand firm!_

_Thank you, _the jewelsmith thought gratefully, _whoever you are!_

Elrond I snatched a torch from its bracket on the wall even as he raced on. With sparks flying behind it, the firebrand turned over in the air as the elf flung it over-handed around the corner. It met its mark in the back of a wraith's robe.

The Nazgûl screeched in rage and pain as it was consumed by fire. Its companion ignored it, advancing toward Celebrimbor. The silver-haired elf was steadily forced back into the far corner of the room, between the fireplace and his bed. He had nowhere to run, and no room to fight.

At that moment, Elrond I flung self-concern to the four winds. He darted into the furthest corner from the trapped Celebrimbor, gave a piercing whistle, and prayed.

The wraith turned toward him, holding its blade out in the half-elf's direction as it moved away from the jewelsmith. Elrond I's heart fluttered against his ribcage; Celebrimbor was safe, but now _he_ was the one in mortal peril. He knew what a mere cut from the Nazgûl's blades could do.

Celebrimbor's blue eyes widened in speechless horror. Elrond couldn't endanger himself for his own sake! The wraiths wanted only _him_, the jewelsmith!

_Don't you dare! _cried the half-elf's voice – not through his ears, but inside his head. _You don't know what they're capable of! **I** do!_

Celebrimbor faltered, his eyes brimming with tears. The elf-lord was putting his own life on the line, all for his sake! It was a sacrifice he couldn't possibly accept!

While all of this had been happening, Elrond II had sneaked up to Celebrimbor along the wall. The younger half-elf whispered urgently into his friend's ear. "_Now_ is your chance to escape! Go!"

The jewelsmith needed no second instruction. He bolted toward the door, toward where Elrond I was cornered. He was mere feet away… he could make it…

It happened in one breathless instant. The Nazgûl whirled around, turning from Elrond I and facing Celebrimbor. The wraith's blade shot out, plunging deep into the jewelsmith's chest. The silver-haired elf crumpled to the floor with a scream, clutching his chest, and Elrond II shoved a second torch into the hearth before flinging it toward the robed figure, which instantly burst into flame.

Shrieking, the wraith floundered and staggered out the door, leaving behind its sword, the end of the blade notched. Elrond I and II rushed to the jewelsmith's side, cringing at his agonized cries.

"I can help you," said Elrond I, struggling to maintain the reassurance in his voice, and to dispel the fear. "Let me see the wound. Elrond," he added, turning to address his godson, "get me Celebrimbor's sword. Now!"

Both elves did as they were bidden. Elrond I ripped away the fabric covering the wound in his friend's chest, tensing when he saw how deep the wraith's blade had gone, and how close to the heart it was. Was there even any hope?

Maybe there still could be. Elrond I spoke softly and gently to Celebrimbor as he held the jewelsmith's sword up to the awful gash.

"There's a piece of the sword in your chest," he explained. "I'll have to cut it out before I can heal you properly. It will hurt, but it's the only way. Can you find something to bite down on?"

Elrond II pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Celebrimbor, who shoved it into his mouth and clenched his teeth over it. Elrond I nodded mutely, and got to work.

Bright crimson blood welled up as Elrond carefully pushed his sword into the gash, using his right hand. He slowly levered the two folds of skin apart, and poked his left forefinger and thumb into the widened hole. He was very close to the heart already. Just a little bit deeper… deeper… _there!_

The half-elf had a hold on the sliver of steel; now all he had to do was get it out. Elrond II was ready with a second handkerchief, to staunch the blood flow once his godfather was done his task.

Elrond I carefully drew his hand out, and threw the steel shard aside. Then Elrond II pressed his handkerchief against the gash, and godfather and godson placed their hands, both clean and bloody, on top of the blood-soaked cloth. The elder of the two poured out his healing energy for Celebrimbor, praying all the while as the jewelsmith's anguished screams subsided into silence.

But even as he lifted his hands away, Elrond I knew that all hope had turned its back on Celebrimbor. The wound had healed successfully, but the jewelsmith's face was horribly pale. The elder half-elf shuddered as he realized the truth: even with their swift actions, Elrond I and II had been too late.

The Nazgûl's blade had been too near to Celebrimbor's heart; the poisoned weapon had fulfilled its deadly task. Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, was passing into the shadow-world. He would never see the Halls of Mandos.

_No, there is still hope for him. Follow his final wishes._

Elrond I looked up sharply, his mind ringing with reverberations of Mandos' voice. There was hope? How? How could it lie in Celebrimbor's wishes?

_Listen and find out._

Celebrimbor gazed at Elrond I through gradually clouding eyes. As the elf-lord bent over him, the jewelsmith managed to whisper faintly, "Kill me."

Elrond I's eyes swam with tears. "I can't."

"You must," Celebrimbor insisted, summoning the last droplets of his weakening energy. "Let Mandos take me… before they do."

Elrond I suddenly saw that his friend's skin was turning to an ashen grey hue, and that the light in his eyes had all but disappeared. The jewelsmith spoke again, more urgently. "Do it now… before they win!"

The half-elf picked up the knife he had just discarded, gripping it in a shaking hand as he poised it over Celebrimbor's chest. The silver-haired elf nodded weakly. "Quickly."

Elrond II buried his face in his hands, trembling and sobbing, as Elrond I closed his eyes and steeled himself. He had to act immediately… Celebrimbor's soul was on the line.

"Forgive me," he choked, and brought the weapon down. There was no scream, merely a gasp and then a quiet sigh as the jewelsmith's final breath fled his lungs.

Elrond I knelt by his friend's side, his clenched fingers refusing to let the knife go. At last he wrenched his hand away, and opened his eyes again just in time to see a pair of semi-transparent figures fade to invisibility.

Elrond II placed a hand on his godfather's shoulder as they both gazed wordlessly down at Celebrimbor's lifeless form. Tears poured out unheeded from four blue eyes as one elf mourned the death of a dear friend.

Elrond I was the first to speak again.

"Do you think it was right?"

"Lord Mandos told you to do it," Elrond II replied gently. "He of all people would know what's best."

Elrond I nodded, but voiced his adamant doubts. "Would this make me a… a Kinslayer?"

"I don't think so," said Elrond II. "The Kinslayers only killed because of the Oath they all took, didn't they? This is different: you aren't cursed by Lord Mandos, and Celebrimbor was willing to be killed. He was dying anyway."

Elrond I shook his head. "He wasn't _dying_. He was _fading_. Dying would have meant that Lord Mandos would have come to take his soul, which he did. If Celebrimbor had… had _faded_, he would have become like one of the wraiths – neither living nor dead, but caught up in between the two. He would have been under Sauron's power. You're right… it was better this way."

They both flinched and scrambled to their feet at the sound of footsteps. Maglor appeared in the doorway, white-faced and breathless. His eyes swept over the scene, drinking it all in: the remains of the smoldering wraith; his nephew's body, and the two figures standing over it; the blood on the hands of Elrond I.

_Celebrimbor's blood, staining Elrond the First's hands._

"You," Maglor breathed. "_You…_"

He took a shaky step forward, his eyes haunted. His right hand moved toward the knife in his belt, groping for the handle.

"L- leave that th- thing well alone!" Elrond I cried frantically, stuttering in his panic. "I- I can explain!"

The son of Fëanor withdrew his hand, breathing hard through his nose as he struggled to rein in his emotions. "So explain."

"Th- this isn't at all what it looks like," the elder half-elf replied carefully, losing some of his stutter as he calmed down a bit. "You need to know the whole story…"

He explained everything, his voice trembling and cracking in sorrow. Maglor listened to him, in a silence so thick it was almost material. Silent tears flooded down his face as his friend came to the conclusion of the bloody narrative.

"Ah," Maglor whispered, nodding slowly. "I… I understand. Yes, it… it is forgivable."

"Thank you," Elrond I whispered back.


	49. Dawn of War

**Chapter Forty-Eight: Dawn of War**

"Elrond?"

The Doomsman's voice shook ever-so-slightly as it passed his lips. Elrond I did not turn; he stood in silence with his back to the Vala, gazing unseeingly out his bedroom window. Mandos sighed for the second time in as many minutes, and turned away in abandonment of his cause. But it was that moment the half-elf chose to speak.

"I don't blame you for what happened last night," he said quietly. "It was a responsibility you couldn't possibly disobey. There's no shame in following Eru's will."

The Vala looked back; Elrond I had turned from the window, and now faced his friend, a strange smile upon his lips: it was perceptibly sympathetic, yet it held sadness at the same time. Mandos hesitated for a moment, but relaxed when the elf extended his hand, palm upward, in a peaceable gesture.

They shook hands, both smiling. But the Doomsman's countenance soon reverted back to one of deep regret.

"I thank you for being so understanding," he murmured. "Nonetheless, I cannot help but feel the same way every time I comply with Eru in gathering the souls of those who die, especially the souls of people who were dear to you in life. I feel as if I am betraying you with every spirit I claim."

Tears glimmered in Mandos' eyes as he went on, "We both know by now of each other's affection. I know and understand why you have been struggling to accept my love. With each kinsman I separate from you, the rift between us widens. I only wish that there was another way…"

He faltered and looked away, not wanting the elf to see him weeping. But Elrond I moved to his side, and reached tenderly up to brush away the Vala's tears. Mandos stared at him, a tiny smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

"Anytime, sire," the half-elf replied graciously.

----

Time seemed to whirl past at great speed. Days turned to weeks, which bled into months and years, and eventually decades and centuries. Morgoth assailed Elrond twice more, to be beaten back by – most surprisingly, he had to confess – Vána and Nessa. The attack count rose to eight – the halfway point. And as far as Elrond I remembered, in this life, he hadn't yet lived even half of the years he had before.

"But the attacks are half over," said Elrond II to his godfather one afternoon; the younger elf's voice was just about desperately hopeful. "Things will be better from now on, won't they?"

"No," Elrond I replied grimly. "It won't get better. It can only get worse – and worse."

But exactly how much worse it would get, they had yet to find out.

----

The downhill spiral began over a thousand years after the Nazgûl's invasion of Imladris. Nearly all of the Valar grew anxious for some inexplicable reason – one that Mandos was swift to reveal to his kindred. Valinor was soon to be under assault by the Númenóreans, who had been seduced into evil by Sauron.

This news was the cause of extreme distress among the Valar. A covert council was held in Elrond I's bedroom; it was similar to the one that had taken place in the First Age, but with some differences. The chamber was set with fourteen thrones for the Valar, and two seats for Elrond I and II.

All communication was through telepathy, as attention was the last thing anyone wanted. For many long hours, fifteen minds buzzed with the arguments and objections of all the others. Everyone was under threat of being driven to contradicting themselves. The room was in utterly silent chaos.

_What can be done?_ cried Vairë. _We made a pledge to guard Elrond, yet our home is in danger!_

_The choice is only too clear,_ replied Aulë, shaking his head. _We must abandon one or the other._

Mingled yells of protest gave birth to an uproarious mental cacophony. Order was utterly out of the question.

Oromë reached for his horn, intending to sound it and perhaps frighten the assembly into even a temporary hush, but Manwë acted first. He shouted for silence in a mental voice louder than the greatest roaring winds, sending the rest of the council reeling in physical pain and clutching their skulls.

As Estë tended to her friends' mightily aching heads (as well as her own), the Wind-lord apologized sincerely for employing such radical action to regain calm. The others waived his contrition aside without a second thought. It was in this newly-established tranquility that Elrond II voiced his startling opinion.

_If it means that much to you,_ he said carefully, _I see no reason why you shouldn't go to the aid of your homeland. The well-being of Valinor is certainly more substantial than that of one elf._

The Valar immediately began muttering among themselves, repeating the elf's statement over and over again to one another. Elrond was willing to be subject to Morgoth's wrath, in complete vulnerability! That must have taken vast amounts of willpower to determine. The choice was precarious. But at long last Mandos clinched the decision.

_Morgoth and his minions will not besiege Elrond again for a number of years, as their latest attack was so recent,_ he explained with confidence. _The point stands to reason: Valinor will surely fall to the Númenóreans if we do not retaliate swiftly. And to do this, we must leave Elrond devoid of our protection. With such a great decline in the potential of danger to Elrond, it would make little sense **not** to go forth and fight for Valinor._

This assessment was met with another bout of mental murmuring. As his kinsmen passed words back and forth, the Doomsman gave Elrond a reassuring smile. The half-elf smiled back, just as Manwë passed the unanimous verdict.

_Very well,_ he said, with no trace of hesitation. _We, the Valar, shall defend Valinor for as long as we are needed there._

Mandos nodded in satisfaction, and sat back a bit in his chair. Things were working out… so far.

----

As the weeks ticked past him one by one, Elrond gradually adjusted to his new lifestyle – a lifestyle not including the Valar in any physical form. He still felt their powers around him, in the wind and water, trees and flowers, and he was sent habitual dreams by Lórien, but it just wasn't the same as seeing them in person.

Elrond missed the specific presence of each Vala and Valië: the brotherliness of Mandos and Lórien, the compassion of Nienna, the endless optimism of Tulkas. The half-elf was starting to hate being so alone, so susceptible. Mandos' words managed to lift his spirits, if only a slight amount; Morgoth wouldn't try to attack him anytime soon.

But if he wasn't after the elf, he was endeavoring to conquer Valinor through the people of Númenor. Either way, the outlook was threateningly dark. And if Elrond I was right, it wasn't about to get any brighter.

----

Nine very long years later, Elrond was overjoyed to see all fourteen of the Valar return to Imladris unscathed. He didn't need anyone to tell him what had occurred, as he recalled it all from his previous life: Ulmo had cast the island of Númenor down to the depths of the Sea, and all but a scant few of its people had drowned alongside it.

Sauron was defeated; he had retreated back to Mordor, and – according to Tulkas – was now licking his wounds and waiting for his master's reprimand. And two new realms had been founded by Men: Arnor and Gondor. Both of these were ruled over by Elendil, the chief of those who had remained faithful to the Valar rather than allowing themselves to be overcome by Sauron.

For the next hundred years Imladris had peace from Morgoth and his minions. But Elrond I knew that the darkness was growing. He had seen Vairë weaving it in her tapestries: the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor were under attack.

The half-elf recalled everything he had seen in his past life at this time period. Unless Eru had some twist of fate awaiting him, Elrond I knew that a long and terrible war was soon to be set in motion between the Light and Dark: an Alliance of two races, and the devious monsters created by Sauron and Morgoth.

Mandos soon confirmed Elrond's fears with a few succinct words. Now all they had to do was wait for it all to begin.

----

"Elrond! Elrond!"

Elrond I jolted to consciousness as the voice, accompanied by loud, insistent pounding on his bedroom door, effectively shredded his sleep. The half-elf leapt to his feet and pulled open the door to admit an almost frantic-looking Maglor.

"I've had a dream," the son of Fëanor gasped. "I think it's about to come true… or maybe it is already."

"What did you see?" Elrond I asked.

"An army of Elves and Men," Maglor answered, "marching toward Rivendell. Gil-galad was at the head of the host, alongside a man who was called Elendil. They were talking; they meant to come here and join our warriors with theirs, and rally against the forces of Mordor."

Elrond could only nod – this, at least, was how it should be. "It _is_ coming true. They'll be here soon."

"How soon?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I know we'll have time to get organized. We must prepare our fighters immediately."

----

It was only a few days later when Rivendell received a visitor. He was an unarmed elf in armor and chainmail, holding a letter directed to both Master Elrond the First and Lord Elrond the Second. The message was from King Gil-galad of Mithlond, and King Elendil of Arnor and Gondor; it contained news of the coming of an Alliance of Elves and Men.

"Just like in my dream!" Maglor breathed, reading the letter over the shoulders of Elrond I and II.

"Indeed," Elrond I replied solemnly, his eyes darting back and forth as he read. "They'll be here within the week."

"How do you know?" Elrond II asked, looking up.

As though it was painfully obvious, Elrond I indicated some very similar words near the bottom of the parchment. Elrond II felt his ears redden somewhat; he hadn't reached that part just yet. Elrond I clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"When you get to be my age, lad, you'll learn to read quickly and memorize what you see."

Elrond II bristled slightly at being addressed as if he were a young boy, but he knew his godfather was very likely right. But there was no time to dwell upon that; there was some serious preparation still to be completed. War was brewing with alarming speed.

----

A mere five days after that, the gates of Rivendell were flung wide to admit a huge throng of armed, armor-clad elves and men. All of them carried long swords and shields, but the immortal warriors also sported great bows and full quivers of arrows. Marching before all the others were two kings: one elven, one human.

Well-armed and clothed in full battle regalia, Elrond I and II and Maglor led the army of Rivendell forth to greet the militia, and the three leaders met the newly-arrived monarchs with bows and brotherly embraces.

"Our races may differ, but we both have a common Creator and a common Enemy," said Elendil sagely. "I am proud to join forces with you, Elrond the First and Second."

Elrond's two halves nodded somberly. "As are we, King Elendil."

Gil-galad then addressed Elrond I alone, murmuring so that no-one else could hear as he held out a small, wrapped bundle. The half-elf opened it cautiously, and was surprised as a length of dark, shimmering fabric unrolled from his hands – _Mandos' cloak_. He had all but forgotten it.

"I took the liberty of bringing this from Mithlond for you," the elven-king explained in a low voice. "Something told me it would be needed."

Elrond I met his friend's eyes, suppressing a shiver as a voice whispered into his head… a voice he knew he should obey. The half-elf handed the cloak back, saying, "Keep it for the battle."

Gil-galad frowned, for he knew all about the garment's hidden power. But he complied, exchanging the Doomsman's cloak for his own. Elrond I put on his comrade's discarded cloak over his armor, nodding in satisfaction.

"Very well," he said gravely. "Let us march now to Mordor."


	50. A Beginning and an End

**Chapter Forty-Nine: A Beginning and an End**

All preparations were made; soldiers were well armed and armored, and fed and watered. Food and water had been rationed out for the long trek to Mordor, and they would gather up what they could as they traveled.

Elrond I and II, Maglor, Gil-galad, Elendil, and the human king's two sons, Anárion and Isildur, joined in the courtyard of Rivendell for one final meeting before the Alliance set out.

"You don't need a long speech from me," said Gil-galad to his comrades. "Just remember that this is war, and as with all wars, there will be bloodshed, agony and, for some, death. You all know just as well as I do that some of us – nay, many of us – will never leave the battleground alive."

"We have all joined in mortal combat before, Ereinion," Elendil spoke up. "We know all about it."

The elf was entirely unabashed by his friend's reproach. "Even so, one reminder does no harm."

Elendil fell into silence, nodding submissively. The last thing they needed right now was an army whose leaders were in disagreement.

Gil-galad met each of the leaders' eyes in turn, just in case anyone had an argument that needed to be settled. When no-one raised his voice, the elven-king smiled and extended his hand. "Then we all concur."

Three humans, two elves and one half-elf in two bodies all shook hands with one another, and returned to the waiting militia.

----

The journey to Mordor was long and wearying for all, but the warriors' morale was ever mounting. The Alliance's numbers swelled as they passed by Lothlórien and Greenwood; the Wood-elves' alacrity to fight the forces of Darkness was more than a little heartening. The vast army approached Mordor steadily from the north.

When they arrived at the dark plain before the Black Gate of Mordor, it seemed as though every fearsome creature from every conceivable nightmare was waiting for them. There were orcs, trolls, great dark wolves with gleaming eyes and fangs, and a limitless swarm of dark birds – crows and ravens, every one pitch-black, ragged-winged and evil. They all swooped overhead, cawing and croaking, blocking out the sunlight and plunging the earth below into shadow.

Elrond I, marching between Gil-galad and his godson, looked up sharply as a great white shape darted past, out of the corner of his eye. It was a huge eagle, followed by no small number of other winged shapes – more eagles, hawks, falcons and other such predators of the skies. It was a host to rival the carrion-birds on the side of the Enemy. The elf smiled up at them; Manwë was surely fighting with the Alliance.

As Maglor, Elendil, Isildur, Anárion and Elrond I and II all unsheathed their swords, Gil-galad drew forth his weapon, the spear named Aiglos. Its pointed tip reached high above the elven-king's head, even when its blunt end rested on the ground. Elrond II, watching him, forcibly held a shiver back as he momentarily recalled a long-ago conversation with this seemingly speechless object.

"Show them no kindness," said Gil-galad, "for you shall receive none."

The members of the Alliance nodded wordlessly, waiting patiently for further orders. The leaders of the host exchanged silent looks, and they came quickly to an agreement, which Elendil voiced.

"Charge."

The elves and men moved forward as one, in a great wave that surged relentlessly toward the waiting enemies. The beasts of the Black Land lunged toward their opponents as well, and above them, two flocks of birds clashed in midair. The siege of Mordor had begun.

The battlefield was in complete pandemonium. Elven arrows struck the hearts of orcs and wolves as the trolls' maces cut great swathes through the ranks of the Alliance. Blood and feathers and birds' corpses rained down on them from above. It was a nauseating sight to the beholder.

In the darkened sky, the ravens and crows were being soundly routed by the much larger, fiercer birds of prey. More and more ebony-feathered bodies plummeted onto the soldiers on the ground. Heartened by this, the Alliance fought with bubbling vigor.

Elrond I and II fought back-to-back, cutting down their foes and blocking attacks in turns. Whenever one half used his sword, the other always had his shield ready. The two halves of the same elf formed a formidable team of one, returning a gaping wound for every cut, a fierce torrent of blood for drops of the same. Two hearts pulsed in perfect unison, never missing a beat.

Elendil and his sons advanced steadily through the thick swarm of bodies that pressed in against them, with filth, sweat and blood mingling on their faces. Was there no end to the might of Mordor? It seemed that for every monster they killed, another ten rose up in its place. Morale and hope were slowly dwindling with the three humans.

Protected by the mysterious power of Mandos' cloak, Gil-galad was totally unscathed, in spite of being deep in the middle of the mêlée. In the elf's skilful, calloused hands, Aiglos impaled beast after hideous beast with swift and deadly accuracy. Dark blood of two hues splattered his armor. But no matter how many creatures he slew, he knew there would be more. There would always be more.

----

The battle dragged on and on for days, weeks and months, with scarcely a free moment to eat or sleep. The numbers of both the Alliance and the Mordorian creatures had dropped, but the elves and humans were slowly but surely defeating the forces of evil beneath the fiery, smoke-streaked sky.

Amid the endless screams of pain and miscellaneous battle cries that had plagued his ears for so long a time, Gil-galad finally heard a triumphant whoop from somewhere ahead of him. He quickly cut a path through the enemy horde to the one who had cried out; it was Elendil, his face flushed, eyes dancing with the light of success.

"I think we can make it to the gate!" he gasped.

Maglor had joined with Elendil's sons, and the three of them wasted no time in making sure their way to the Black Gate was clear. Elrond I and II soon met them as well, every bit as exultant as the others. Together they charged forward with all that was left of the Alliance (it was still a formidable number, despite their losses), through the Gate and on toward the looming fortress of Barad-dûr.

Past the dark threshold, even more foul creatures awaited the army of Light. Arrows flew like hundreds of shooting stars, and swords slashed and pierced enemy flesh like striking serpents. This time the fiends of Mordor were not nearly as strong as before; it seemed all of the best fighters had been sent to the forefront of the war.

The Alliance moved forth step by determined step. Slowly the beasts of darkness began to falter as the elves and men stood up ever stronger. Conquest was in the Alliance's grip; they had only to reach out and take it…

But a much darker shadow passed over the battleground, and for a moment Time held its breath. The soldiers of the Alliance could do nothing but stare in wordless disbelief as the commander of the evil host descended from his tower to join the war.

Gone were the blue eyes, sallow skin and shoulder-length golden locks; the robe and shirt of ivory and scarlet had been utterly discarded. Sauron, in all the might of his darkness, stood up against the sky like a mountain wrought of the shadows themselves.

Black armor glinted like obsidian on every inch of his body, from his fearsome, spiked helmet down to his huge boots. In his steel-gloved right hand he held a massive mace – a thick spar of iron topped with a great, barbed ball of the same metal. And on his right ring finger was a band of gold, inscribed inside and outside with words of a dark language that befouled the origin of their intricate script. _One Ring to rule them all…_

The Lord of the Rings had come to crush his foes.

The elves and men had no time to react before Sauron swung his mace, slaughtering a dozen warriors with each ruthless blow. Panting, Elrond I and II quickly ducked behind a rocky ridge that would give an impermanent shelter. The leaders of the Alliance, who had been struggling to regroup, now seemed to be scattered again.

"Where are Maglor and Gil-galad?" Elrond II asked fearfully, staring into the face of his other half. "Did you see them?"

The elder elf's voice trembled. "I did, for a moment. They were with Elendil, Isildur and Anárion, but … they just vanished."

Elrond I suddenly gasped as a hand clamped over his mouth, stifling his alarmed cry. His godson moved instantly to help him, but soon sighed and relaxed when he saw that it was a friend.

"It's all right," whispered the person who was holding Elrond I, as the half-elf tried to look at him. "It's only me – Maglor. I'm going to let you go now."

"Thank you," Elrond I replied as he was released, his voice hoarse with relief. "Are you all right?"

Maglor nodded. "I'm alive, at least." But the son of Fëanor sported several deep, bloody gashes on his hands and cheeks, and it looked like the tip of his left ear was missing.

"Do you know where the others are?" Elrond II asked.

"Only for a few moments," Maglor answered. "I saw Gil-galad get buried under many of our army… I didn't see him get up. Elendil and Isildur escaped, but I'm not certain about Anárion."

Elrond I nodded, shuddering in pure fear. For one of a great many times in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

----

Gil-galad couldn't halt his sobs as he heaved himself out from beneath the lifeless bodies of a half-dozen of his kinsmen. They had fallen on top of the elven-king after Sauron had struck them down, completely shielding him from the dark Lord's gaze and guarding him even in death.

Gil-galad gasped in horror as he recognized a human among the elves he had been buried under. Anárion! The man had died protecting him, and he hadn't even known it… The elf gently cradled his slain friend in his arms for a brief moment, lightly kissing the prince's cold forehead and whispering a farewell, even though he knew that Mandos had already been here and visited the man.

But Maglor, Elendil, Isildur and Elrond… where were they?

Somewhere else not far from him, Sauron was still wreaking merciless destruction on the last remnants of the Alliance. The king started to rise fully, to see what was happening, but saw his cloak – Mandos' cloak – fall from his shoulders. The hem was pinned firmly beneath a fallen orc's sword; the weapon's blade was sunk deep into the ground, holding the edge of the garment tightly. The clasp that had held it was broken.

Even if the cloak was able to be freed, Gil-galad knew he could never wear it now. He had no choice but to discard his greatest means of protection. He climbed laboriously to his feet and stepped over his friends' limp bodies, advancing toward Sauron with Aiglos held tight in his fist.

----

Sauron himself was moving across the war-torn plains of Mordor, treading heedlessly on the immobile forms of elves, humans and Mordorian beasts alike. Many of the kindred of the Light were still living, if scarcely even that, and were crushed unto death beneath the dark Lord's massive boots. He ignored the muffled groans of agony as the warriors' final breaths were wrung out of them.

His purpose was evident, and it did not involve any of those pathetic, half-dead creatures. Sauron's sight was fixed on the two figures trying to conceal themselves behind a shelf of stone that threatened to crumble at any instant. That was his greatest mistake – he didn't think to look over his shoulder, to where Gil-galad was still approaching.

Behind the precarious ridge, Elendil and Isildur huddled together, not daring to breathe. They had both seen Sauron coming; they had to remain hidden until the time was right to strike.

Elendil silently fingered his blade, a majestic-looking sword called Narsil. He tilted it just a little, so that a thin slice of the sky above was reflected on its surface. And part of it was slowly being blotted out by a greater shadow…

…still unobserved, Gil-galad slunk forth, until he was within striking distance of the dark Lord…

…Isildur closed his eyes, silently praying to the Valar…

…and the elven-king leapt up, plunging Aiglos deep into Sauron's giant-sized right shin.

His adversary struck back, using his mace to fling Gil-galad carelessly aside as if he were nothing but a rag doll. Aiglos flew from his hand as he pitched backward through space. He landed hard on the rocky ground fifteen feet away, and let out a scream of anguish as some razor-sharp object was thrust through his back, its tip just barely protruding from the lower left side of his breastplate. He could only observe what happened next.

At the same time as the other king had attacked, Elendil had sprung into action, throwing himself full-force toward Sauron. But he, too, was swatted aside like a bothersome insect, slamming into the rock face behind him and crumpling forward, instantly slain. Isildur, in a frenzy of wrath, lunged forth and snatched up Narsil from where it lay unheeded.

Sauron stepped on the blade, cracking it into pieces, and reached down to the prince with his right hand. Isildur desperately swung the fragment of the sword he still held, slashing the air until metal struck flesh. Sauron's right ring finger, with the golden band still upon it, fell away from the dark Lord's hand and landed on the stone before the prince.

The man looked up into the concealed face of Sauron to see beams of dazzling white light emanate from the eye-holes of his helmet, and from many other places on the evil figure's body. In one blinding flash, Sauron's whole body dissolved, and his armor fell to the earth, empty and smoking. But it didn't end there.

From the very instant of the dark Lord's disappearance, some great wave of unseen force had surged out across the plains of Mordor. Now it overwhelmed what little remained of the warring armies, knocking every standing creature off its feet.

Then, with surprising softness, it was gone.


	51. In and Out

**Chapter Fifty: In and Out**

Still concealed behind their ridge, Maglor and Elrond I and II shivered as the force of the eerie wave passed them. It had changed the very air; they could all sense that something momentous had just taken place. Aside from the next-to-imperceptible whisper of settling dust, the stillness was so thick they could all but taste it.

"What in Arda was that?" Maglor gasped, putting a hand up to his thumping heart.

Elrond II glanced sideways at his godfather, questioning him with his eyes. Elrond I drew a slow breath before answering, "I think it's over. Sauron is gone."

"Dead?" Maglor frowned.

"I'm not sure. I'll go out and take a look. Will you come with me?"

----

Gil-galad struggled to keep breathing, torture though it was. He could feel his own thick, hot blood pouring from the terrible wound in his torso, pooling between his armor and the clothing he was wearing underneath, making the cloth stick to his body and to the injury.

The thing that had stabbed him, whatever it was, had gone through his stomach at an odd angle and pierced his left lung. His whole body was a mass of pain, his mind a labyrinth of mixed-up thoughts. It was all he could do to stay conscious, to focus on breathing. _In, out. In, out._ One breath at a time. _In, out._

The elf felt blood rising in his mouth, and turned his head to one side, trying to summon the dregs of his fading strength to spit it out. He coughed for air, and the ground beneath him was speckled liberally with crimson. Still he breathed. _In, out._

Faint footsteps drummed ever-so-softly in his ears (_in, out_), and he looked up as much as he could. _In, out._ The sky above him was partially obscured by three faces he thought he knew… he fought to gather his now-listless wits (_in, out_), to remember the names.

"Gil-galad!" sobbed one, as they all dropped to their knees next to the seriously wounded monarch – one on his right, two on the left.

The elven-king opened his mouth, trying to call up the energy to speak, and more blood dripped down his chin. _In, out._ The figure to his right wiped it gently away with his hand, speaking now in a soothing murmur as he grasped the king's right hand in his own.

"Gil-galad, it's Elrond… Elrond the Second. Can you hear me? Don't try to say anything – just nod or shake your head."

Slowly Gil-galad nodded, his breaths gurgling slightly around the liquid in his mouth. _In, out._

"Can you see me?"

Another nod. _In, out._

Elrond II gulped down a breath. "Do you think you can move?"

_In, out. _The king's head lolled from side to side as he shook it.

The lord of Imladris looked desperately to his companions; Elrond I reached out and took Gil-galad's left hand, addressing him quietly. But the words he spoke weren't entirely his own; he paraphrased them aloud as someone else spoke them into his mind.

"I think I know a way that I can hear you," he murmured to the king. "You can just try to think of what you want to tell us. I can read your mind and find out what you're trying to say. Is that all right?"

Gil-galad nodded (_in, out_) to show he was ready. Elrond I breathed deep and focused his energy, letting something in his mind knock warily on the door to the elven-king's own. _In, out._

Entrance was granted to him, but it didn't happen at all like he'd expected it to. The half-elf took a careful pace forth, and as Gil-galad waited (_in, out_), Elrond I stepped right out of his own body and into his friend's very consciousness.

----

_He found himself in a huge chamber, boundlessly long and wide, but dim and vacant. The room of Gil-galad's mind was shrouded in a shivering veil of black and scarlet, moving in time to the rushing of the king's breaths _(in, out)_ and the frighteningly slow throbbing of his heart. Elrond I stepped warily forward, calling out as he advanced._

"_Gil-galad?"_

_The reply came from the figure who took shape before him, a semi-transparent image of Gil-galad. "Yes, I hear you." _In, out, _went the king's slow breathing_.

"_What is it you wish to tell me?"_ _the half-elf asked._

"_Too many things," the king sighed. _In, out. _"I never knew dying would be such a bother. I have so many things left undone, ideas left unsaid…"_

"_Don't even **think** things like that!" cried Elrond I, his urgent voice echoing around the empty hall. "You aren't going to die!"_

_Gil-galad laughed sadly _(in, out)_. "I know the voice of Mandos when I hear it, Elrond."_

"_Stop it, please!" the half-elf pleaded. "I can save you!"_

In, out. _"You must understand, _mellon nin_. Even as we speak, I'm losing too much blood; there is nothing anyone can do for me now, save for Mandos. _(In, out.) _Will you carry out my final requests?"_

_Elrond I nodded, feeling tears cascade down his face. "Yes."_

"_Very well. There are a few of my possessions I must pass on to others. _(In, out.) _One is Aiglos, my spear; I would like you to give it to your other half, if you can find it."_

"_You don't have it?"_

"_Not since Sauron vanished." _In, out.

_Elrond I nodded. "Then I'll do my best to seek it out."_

"_Good. _(In, out.) _Another thing is the lordship of the Grey Havens. If anything ill should happen to my wife, Mithlond will need someone to carry on ruling it in my stead. I would have passed this honor to Cirdan _(in, out) _if he were alive."_

_Elrond I shivered at the recollection of a long-gone dream, full of promises of a legacy to be fulfilled – Cirdan's legacy. Perhaps the dream was beginning to come true._

"_So," Gil-galad went on, "I have decided to pass on the lordship of my haven to Maglor. _(In, out.) _He is a good and just friend, and I'm sure he will keep the city well."_

_Maglor – another key factor of the dream, the half-elf mused. He was to accomplish what Elrond I could not; then Gil-galad's last statement certainly made a great deal of sense. Even with his two bodies, Elrond couldn't possibly be the lord of **two **cities._

"_Maglor will make a great lord," the half-elf agreed. "You're right to place your trust in him."_

_Then a horrible thought slowly occurred to him, and he spoke in dread-filled hesitation. "Where is Lord Mandos' cloak?"_

"_Ah," the elven-king murmured, "yes. You noticed. _(In, out.) _I lost it some time before I moved to help Elendil and Isildur fight Sauron."_

_Elrond I gasped. "Where are they?"_

"_Elendil was slain by Sauron's own hand," Gil-galad answered him. _In, out. _"That much is certain. I don't know what became of Isildur, at least not after he destroyed the Dark Lord."_

"_Isildur destroyed him?"_

"_Yes – he cut the Ring from Sauron's finger. But as I said before _(in, out)_, I don't know precisely what Isildur did next. I thought I saw him knocked unconscious."_

_Elrond I's heart was pounding. This was happening almost exactly as it had before. But the Ring hadn't been immediately destroyed in his previous life; it had passed out of all knowledge for thousands of years before it was finally taken back to Mordor by a valiant pair of halflings. _

_Those years were still to come, and Elrond couldn't say how they would change. But he still had a chance to alter his present. A solemn promise buzzed in his mind; he would do anything and everything in his power to prevent history from repeating itself in this way._

_But_… _perhaps things had righted themselves already. Maybe – just **maybe **– Isildur had taken the Ring and thrown it into the lava of Mount Doom. Could it be possible that there was no need for his vow? It was almost too good a situation to be plausible._

_The half-elf started to speak again, but jumped in alarm as the already shadowy chamber began to darken completely. Gil-galad backed away from his friend; his next words were hurried and fragmented, pieces of them lost in the gathering shadow._

"_I cannot stay… need to tell Maglor…Vilya is kept… he can guard…"_

"_No!" Elrond I screamed desperately. "Wait! What must I tell Maglor?"_

_The answer just barely grazed his ears as the darkness became absolute. Elrond was now lost to an endless void, in which a single tiny speck of light had formed, and was steadily growing. It took shape, in the form of a great gateway of dazzling, pure white light. And a darkly shimmering figure appeared before the closed doors, wearing a sad smile upon his pale face._

"_Ereinion Gil-galad?" Mandos called softly._

_Gil-galad appeared again in the radiance of the white gate, and the Doomsman placed a kindly hand on his shoulder before looking up and spotting Elrond I._

"_You should not be here," the Vala told him, disapproval seeping slowly into his eyes._

"_I know," Elrond I replied, beginning to cry without knowing the reason. "I only wanted to hear Gil-galad's last wishes – I didn't mean to follow him out here." The half-elf felt horrible for saying it. _

_Mandos nodded sorrowfully. "I know. But you were not meant to come even this far. You must return to your own consciousness."_

"_How?" Elrond I asked despairingly._

"_Follow me," said a voice in his ear. _

_The half-elf looked up to see Manwë smiling gently upon him, and holding his right hand out for Elrond to take. As soon as he obeyed, the Wind-lord led him back the way he had come, and up again from Gil-galad's mind into the half-elf's own._

----

Elrond I gasped for breath as his spirit returned to his body. He could still feel a hand in his own. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Manwë was kneeling beside him, and that Elrond II and Maglor were both trembling, lying facedown on the ground with only their eyes lifted. But Gil-galad wasn't moving at all; he lay utterly lifeless, a calm smile fixed forever on his blood-stained lips.

Manwë addressed Elrond I and his companions urgently. "Evil is even now afoot; Sauron lives still. His life-force is bound to the Ring, which has not yet been cast back into the fires from whence it came."

The Vala turned his gaze toward the still-smoking volcano in the distance, and then down to its stony foot, where his keen eyes perceived a lone, limp figure just beginning to come awake.

"Elendil's son will require every ounce of guidance that you possess," he told the elves. "You know your task – now hurry!"

Elrond I leapt upright, and Elrond II and Maglor scrambled to get to their feet. Together they ran in the direction Manwë indicated, toward the twitching, moaning form of Isildur.

----

Isildur blinked groggily, grimacing in pain as he slowly came to. He was lying on his side at the foot of Mount Doom, with something small, circular and golden glimmering mere inches from his nose. It was a ring, a large ring at that, yet it somehow seemed to shrink before his eyes.

Gradually the memories returned: the battle, his father, Gil-galad, Sauron, and that Ring. The One Ring to rule them all. It was right in front of him, shimmering so seductively in the light of Mount Doom… he tried to reach for it, but someone snatched it away before he could fully regain the use of his arm.

Isildur stared uneasily up at the three figures standing above him; there were three elves, and one of them, who looked exactly the same as another, was examining the Ring in his palm.

"Give it to me," the human whispered, struggling to rise as pain shot through his limbs. "I _earned_ it."

"You can't _earn _something like this, Isildur," said the elf who resembled the one holding the ring. "It isn't a prize to be won. Come with us. We need to show you something."

The elves pulled the human to his feet, and he limped after them, up and ever up the steep slope of the Mountain of Fire, toward the Crack of Doom.


	52. Changes

**Chapter Fifty-One: Changes**

Isildur wordlessly followed Elrond I, Elrond II and Maglor into the very heart of Mount Doom, through a wide opening in the rock face that allowed a blaze of fiery orange light to pour forth. Elrond II was at the head of the group, the Ring clenched tightly in his fist. But he knew of its evil might, and bent all of his will against it.

They strode out onto the ledge above the bubbling maelstrom of liquid flame. Isildur took a quick look over the edge, feeling instantly nauseous at the sight of the volcano's boiling innards.

Elrond I and Maglor lingered near the doorway, just in case Isildur tried to flee. The man was staring rather at Elrond II, who now held the Ring out at arm's length above the seething lava.

"Wait," said the prince hastily, just as the young half-elf was about to let go. "Please… let me do it."

Elrond I made as if to move forward, but halted at a meaningful glance from his godson. Elrond II nodded to Isildur and held out the Ring to him. The man accepted it slowly, and extended his hand over the lava as Elrond II had.

The object appeared to be singing to him, alluring him, seducing him. He could actually hear a weird, high-pitched humming noise from the Ring itself. But even above the eerie, unearthly melody, Elrond I's words echoed in his head, as well as some he had not heard before.

_You can't earn something like this; it isn't a prize to be won. The Ring was wrought with pure evil; nothing good can become of it, save for if it were unmade. Cast it into the fire! Destroy it **now!**_

The man hesitated, drawn so helplessly to the Ring's strange music that he seemed to lose all power of motion. Again the voice cried out within his mind, all the more desperate as Isildur stood there in stock-still silence.

_Always, **always** remember who made this Ring! That same person slaughtered the last of your family! Do you really wish to let that person live? Decide now!_

Isildur drew one deep breath, then another as the two sounds faded; he concentrated upon feeling the Ring's hard, warm metal against the inside of his hand, becoming fully aware of its presence, its shape, and its power for evil and **_only_** evil.

The prince's thoughts now were not thoughts of lust – they were infused with cold fury at the Ring's maker, the one who had massacred his father and brother. He would perform this last deed for them.

"Good riddance, then, Sauron," he snarled.

The Ring flashed gold as it plummeted past them, down and down into the molten rock so far below. The companions on the ledge waited, all holding their breath. At last they heard the one sound they most wanted to hear… a soft, final _hiss_ as the Ring sunk below the lava's surface and melted, lost forever to the bubbling bowels of the earth.

Isildur turned to his friends, a triumphant smile lighting his face. Elrond II flung his arms about the man, nearly crying in elation.

"You did it, Isildur! He's gone forever! Well done!"

The prince nodded, but as he opened his mouth to reply, a low, ominous rumble met their ears, and the ledge shook beneath their feet.

"Get out!" Elrond I yelled. "Everyone, _move!_"

They all whirled around and sprinted back the way they had come, but Elrond II let out a scream as the rock disintegrated under him, sending him flailing through space. His right hand just barely grasped the now-jagged edge of the rock, but the sharp protrusions made his fingers slick with blood.

Isildur did another about-face, falling to his knees and reaching for the young elf's wrist. "I've got you! Hold on!"

Elrond II struggled to pull himself up with his left hand, to help Isildur lift him. But they both pitched forward as more and more of the stone cracked and fell.

"Save yourselves!" Isildur screamed to Maglor and Elrond I, who had come to help them. "Get out of here while you still can!"

"No!" cried Maglor, grabbing Isildur's shoulders as Elrond I seized his. They pulled their friends back onto safer ground – or what they believed to be safer. The whole ledge soon broke and plunged into the abyss below, even as the elves and the human scrambled out of the chamber, with a flood of red-hot lava at their heels.

Skidding and sliding on the rocks, the friends scrabbled onto a large, protruding shelf of stone in one of the volcano's smooth sides, and lay there panting as exhaustion overcame them. For an interminable span of time they lay motionless, completely silent except for their own breathing.

At last Elrond I managed to whisper, "Maglor, Isildur, Elrond… are you all still awake?"

"Yes." The human and the two elves reached out and grasped their friend and godfather's hands. "What is it?"

"You need to know what Gil-galad told me." Elrond I moved his eyes to the right and left as far as he could, trying to meet their gazes.

"I'm listening," Maglor and Elrond II said in both of his ears.

"Go on," murmured Isildur's voice from somewhere behind his head.

The half-elf nodded once and related the deceased elven-king's final message for them all to hear. No-one was dry-eyed by the time he was finished, and no-one knew just what to say or think. There was only a long silence filled with sobbing, and then the sweet sound of softly falling rain.

The very sky above seemed to be weeping as they were, mourning the countless deaths of elves and men alike. Elrond I sighed quietly, letting the cool droplets splash onto his face and wash away his tears. He closed his eyes, and the peaceful blanket of unconsciousness was gently draped across his mind.

----

Elrond II didn't remember ever getting back to Rivendell. As he came awake, just before he opened his eyes, the first thing he heard was a familiar female voice floating through the dim twilight of his awareness.

"Wake up, Elrond…"

He blinked, and immediately squinted as sunlight dazzled him. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadow standing before him, presumably the owner of the voice he had just heard. This was confirmed when the figure moved slightly to one side, blocking out some of the blinding light and allowing him to see her clearly.

"Mother!" Elrond II gasped in delight.

Elwing smiled fondly, her silver-blue eyes shining with a radiance that was surely caused by something much more than the daylight. The young half-elf noticed abruptly that she had been crying; there were faint but unmistakable tearstains on her cheeks.

"Tears of joy, love," his mother reassured him, when she saw he had noticed the fading blotches. "I'm so glad you're alive and in one piece!"

Elrond II smiled wryly; he could never truly be in _one_ piece, at least, not as long as life was the way it was.

Elwing soon spotted her blunder, and gave a good-natured laugh that reminded Elrond of a nightingale's song. How the young half-elf had missed that glorious sound! It seemed a lifetime ago that they had been together in Mithlond. In truth it was half an Age or more. And so much had changed in that span… people had been born, while others had died… Life and Death balanced each other out, as they always seemed to do so perfectly.

Elrond II sat up, glancing down at the bed he lay in. There were many others across from his, each empty, their white sheets tidy and unwrinkled. The elf glanced anxiously around him, noticing with relief that his godfather lay in a bed to his left, and Maglor and Isildur were on his right.

All three seemed to be sleeping serenely, he saw from the gentle up-and-down motions of their chests. Their wounds had been capably healed, and none seemed obvious except for the now-blunted end of Maglor's severed left ear. Elrond II smiled, thankful that they all had made it, and turned back to his left as Elrond I moaned softly, "Where am I?"

"Rise and shine," Elwing smiled at him. "You're home, safe and sound in Imladris."

Elrond I smiled back. "Hello, Mother… and me," he added quietly to his other half.

Elrond II and Elwing quickly glanced across to Maglor and Isildur's beds, sighing when they saw that the two were still peacefully unconscious. But Elrond I quickly realized his slip-up. "Oh, right…"

"It's all right, they didn't hear you," his mother sighed.

"Well, it _is_ incredibly hard sometimes to remember not to call him 'me'," replied Elrond I defensively, glancing at Elrond II. "I've been treating him like a nephew ever since the day he was born, and to almost everyone else I know, I'm little more than his godfather. Also an extremely important fact to consider is that he has developed a _distinctly_ different personality than me in these past three and a half millennia…"

"I didn't catch the beginning of that, so I'm not about to comment," said Maglor's voice; the son of Fëanor had just awoken and sat up. "Good morning, everyone – if it even is the morning."

"Awake at last," Elwing sighed. "I was beginning to worry about you, Lord Maglor. You and the others have all been unconscious for more than three days – this is the morning of the fourth."

"Lord–?" Maglor repeated, frowning in confusion. But a moment later he nodded slowly, as remembrance flitted across his features. "Ah yes, that would be me now, wouldn't it? Maglor, Lord of Mithlond…"

They all fell into a respectful hush, silently remembering Gil-galad as sorrow swept over them. After a few minutes Elrond I brushed a hand across his eyes and spoke softly into the stillness.

"His sacrifice was not in vain, at least, and nor were those of Elendil and Anárion," he murmured. "Sauron has been defeated, and his power completely obliterated. Now at last, it appears we have a chance for real peace after an Age of war."

"Yes," Maglor nodded. "All thanks to Isildur."

They all turned to gaze upon the man's still face. The prince – no, he would now be the King – shifted a little in his sleep, but did not come to. Elrond I stared hard at him, lost to wonderment. Was this truly the same man who had acted to selfishly, so lustfully, in the half-elf's previous life? What could have wrought such a complete change of heart?

_What, indeed?_ whispered a soft voice in his head. _Ask perhaps this instead: what was altered on the battlefield of this life, in regards to that of your past life?_

_Many things,_ Elrond I replied, without really knowing who he was speaking to. _I was in two bodies, Maglor was appointed to be the lord of the Grey Havens, and Isildur had a great deal more help fighting the Ring…_

_Yes,_ said the other voice, _think of what happened with the Ring at the foot of Mount Doom. What took place then?_

The answer came to the elf like a slap across the face. _We took the Ring from him right away! He never had a real chance to touch it!_

The owner of the voice in his mind was very likely smiling at this point. _Correct. Isildur had little contact with the Ring; therefore, the opportunity for corruption was cut short. And the willpower of your young counterpart very effectively staved off any manipulation in that respect._

Elrond I smiled in relief, but was suddenly aware of someone behind him. He turned his head, and nodded respectfully to Mandos. It must have been the Doomsman who had just been conversing with him.

Elrond II looked up and spotted the Vala, and bowed his head as well before he spoke.

"My lord," he said hesitantly, "your cloak…"

"…is currently hanging in your wardrobe," Mandos finished calmly for him.

"And Aiglos?" the elf went on, as a second thought occurred to him.

"In your weaponry cabinet, alongside your sword."

Elrond II nodded. "Thank you, sire."

----

Everyone eventually recovered from the aftermath of the war, though it took quite a long time. Isildur readied himself to leave Imladris and return to Gondor, and at the same time Maglor prepared to set out for the Grey Havens.

The son of Fëanor and newly-appointed Lord of Mithlond was extremely anxious about his new title; he consulted Elrond I privately just before he was about to depart.

"Are you sure this is… well, right?" he asked fretfully. "Me, becoming Lord of the Grey Havens?"

Elrond I smiled warmly. "Don't worry, it's 'right'. Cirdan would have taken your place, if he were alive. This is all part of the Plan." By 'the Plan' he of course meant Eru's Plan, which it seemed was already starting to be fulfilled.

Maglor nodded, evidently heartened. "I'll do my best."

"I'm certain you will," the half-elf smiled.

At that moment Isildur and Elrond II joined them, stating that the King of Gondor was ready to leave. Maglor and the elder half-elf followed them out to the gates, where a pair of horses were saddled and ready.

Elrond I and II bade their comrades a fond farewell, wishing them good fortune on their journeys. The two travelers rode away with confidence, calling out cheerful goodbyes to each other as they parted ways.

"What do we do now?" Elrond II asked his other half, as they watched the last plumes of dust disperse.

Elrond I's only reply was to casually begin humming a wedding march. Elrond II felt his heart leap in his chest.

"Where, when, and to whom?" he asked, enthused.

"In the wood of Lothlórien," his godfather answered dreamily, "in about a hundred and nine years, you're going to wed Celebrían, the only daughter of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. You met her before, when we passed that realm on the way to Mordor."

"Oh," Elrond II breathed, his eyes lighting up. But a moment later his expression became one of total confusion. "How will that work out, exactly? We're the same person, and she can't possibly take her vows with _**both** _of us! People would think it was bigamy!"

"Ahh." The elder half-elf's face fell. "Yes, that _does_ rather complicate the matter, doesn't it?" He shrugged. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how Eru plans to carry all of this out."


	53. Lothlórien

**Chapter Fifty-Two: Lothlórien**

A few days later, a message arrived in Imladris addressed to Elrond II. In smooth, elegant cursive, it requested a reunion with the lord of Rivendell and his kinsmen to celebrate the defeat of Sauron. Apparently a similar invitation had been extended to Mithlond a little while earlier, so that both cities would receive the same word at around the same time.

Elrond II immediately brought the message to his godfather and mother, who both agreed wholeheartedly to the idea. Preparations for their departure to Lothlórien were made soon afterward; Erestor, Elrond II's most trusted advisor, was left in charge of Imladris for the time being, and the two-bodied elf-lord and his mother set out with carefree confidence.

"I wonder what Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel will say when they find out just how Sauron was destroyed forever," Elwing commented, beaming over at her son as they rode out south and east.

"Who knows?" Elrond I shrugged, eyes twinkling cheerily. "We'll cross that bridge when it comes."

Elrond II was silent, his thoughts flittering around in his mind like crazed sparrows. Soon he would meet the love of his life, the woman with whom he would spend eternity. There was nothing in the world that could ruin his good mood… nothing.

----

Many days later, the wood of Lothlórien came into the travelers' sight. The first thing the elves noticed was that many of the trees had strange silver bark, rather than that of a more common, mossy grey-brown; their leaves were a bright gold instead of green. The silver and gold trees, named _mellyrn_ for their coloring, seemed almost to glow in the sunlight of midday.

Beaming, Elrond I spurred his mount forward and crossed the threshold, with his godson and mother on either side. The sun filtered down through the woven branches of the trees above, causing the environment to dim slightly, but not very much. A warm, hazy, green-gold glow filled the air around them, and the path they were on was carpeted with golden leaves from the _mellyrn_.

The travelers slowed their horses as many wood-elves began to approach them, showing themselves between the trees. Each one smiled and nodded warmly as Elrond and Elwing passed them; the elf-lord and his mother returned the gestures cordially. Then three more elves stepped out of the trees, onto the path a good distance ahead of the newcomers.

There were a lord and two ladies side-by-side; the lord and one of his female companions had long silver hair, while the other woman's locks were bright golden curls. The silver-haired woman appeared to be the youngest of the group (but it was difficult to tell, what with the way elves never aged past the stage of adult maturity). All three were clothed in snowy white.

Elrond and Elwing halted their horses and dismounted, bowing to the lord and ladies who stood before them. The others smiled, nodding their heads in reply.

"Welcome to Lothlórien," the golden-haired woman greeted them benignly. "I believe we have met before," she said, nodding to Elrond I and II. "But who might you be, milady?" she asked Elwing.

Elwing smiled and replied, "I am Elwing, daughter of Dior Eluchil. You have indeed met my elder son, Elrond the Second, and his godfather and namesake, Elrond the First."

The silver-haired lord then spoke, smiling. "It is a great honor to meet you, Lady Elwing. I am Celeborn, the lord of this realm; this is my wife, Galadriel, and our only daughter, Celebrían." He nodded toward the golden-haired woman and the younger, silver-haired one, respectively.

Celebrían smiled, nodding politely to the newcomers as well. Elrond II couldn't help but notice the way her calm, sapphire-blue eyes seemed to linger upon him the longest of all. He felt a shiver run its prickly fingers up his backbone. Celebrían… so this was his future wife. She was the most beautiful elleth he had ever seen…

"Come this way," said Galadriel's voice, slipping gently into his thoughts. "Let us show you to our city." She held out her hand to beckon them forward.

Elrond I's eyes were instantly drawn to the ring adorning her right-hand middle finger: a band wrought of a silvery metal named _mithril_, and set with a large diamond skillfully cut in a flower-like shape. It was one of the three elven Rings of Power – Nenya, the Ring of Water.

Galadriel noticed the direction of his gaze, and raised an eyebrow fractionally. The half-elf held his own right hand toward her, revealing Narya. The deep crimson ruby set in the gold band glittered almost like an ember.

The lady of the wood smiled calmly, recognizing a kindred spirit and fellow Ring-keeper. She nodded knowingly to Elrond I, then glanced up at the others, turned, and led them in the direction of Caras Galadhon, the City of the Trees.

---

Caras Galadhon, the city of the elves in the heart of Lothlórien, was every bit as beautiful as Elrond I remembered it to be. A wide, paved path of pale stone ringed a tall green wall of pure foliage, with but one set of gates to the southwest. Beyond these gates lay a lush, green lawn illumined by sunlight.

To one side of the lawn was a tinkling fountain circled by finely-wrought silver lamps, which were unlit now in the blaze of noon. In the middle of the lawn, near the fountain, a group of long tables had been set up, and it seemed that many elves were seated there, patiently awaiting their lord and lady's arrival.

Around the lawn grew many silver and gold _mallorn_ trees, yet they were much taller than the ones in the forest outside the wall. Each had stairs built onto them that twined around and up the silvery trunks, and led to large platforms built between the sprawling boughs. To the south stood the largest tree of all, with the most splendid dais; this was the home of Celeborn and Galadriel.

The elves seated at the tables all leapt to their feet when they saw Celeborn and Galadriel approaching, with Celebrían, Elrond and Elwing alongside of them. Galadriel led Elrond and his mother to three empty places, and she and her husband and daughter all took their seats beside them.

The revelry got off to an enthusiastic start. Plates of food were never empty, and goblets of wine nearly overflowed with liquid. Laughter rang joyously out through the air above the cheerful clatter of knives and forks, and the murmurings of various conversations here and there.

Elwing soon found herself to be the focus of constant questioning, but she didn't take any offense at all from the elves' inquisitiveness; in fact, she rather enjoyed it, and answered their questions earnestly.

"…many years ago I lived in the realm of Beleriand, in the havens of Sirion," she told an ellon who had inquired about her past. "My husband Eärendil and I were the keepers of the city, and we did so alone for some time, until the day Elrond the First arrived with a pair of very esteemed companions."

Elrond I seemed to become intensely fascinated by his dinner at that moment, at about the same time as his ears began to burn. He forced himself to look up just in time to hear his mother say his name a second time.

"…Master Elrond, thank the Valar, was able to rescue both my children and myself from serious injury." Elwing laid a hand on Elrond II's shoulder as she spoke, smiling lovingly over at Elrond I.

The elves seated around them murmured excitedly, many of them casting thrilled glances in Elrond I's direction. The elder half-elf smiled rather nervously back, his ears quite hot at this point.

"But who were the 'esteemed guests' who accompanied you?" an elleth asked Elrond I.

"Ah, yes," he sighed. "The guests were none other than the lords Lórien and Mandos."

Startled gasps erupted across every table, and there ensued a strange rippling of the air as several hundred elven heads turned to gaze at a certain half-elf. The intensity of so many sharp blue eyes boring into him made Elrond I squirm silently, even as he fought to keep from showing his emotions.

"Yes," he went on, forcing a calm smile onto his face to veil his edginess. "I did arrive in Sirion in the company of two of the Valar. They have been comrades of my godson and I ever since then."

A reverent silence followed as the Lothlórien elves stared at Elrond I in even greater awe than before, if that was even remotely possible. Elrond II gazed at his other half in barely-masked trepidation, wondering silently, _Are you sure that was wise?_

_We can't do a thing about it now,_ his godfather sighed. _I just hope this place doesn't end up like Sirion._

_Why?_

_Oh, of course, you wouldn't remember: you were too young. What I mean is that when I was in Sirion, I faced a great deal of persecution from my peers because of my friendship with Lords Mandos and Lórien. Needless to say, I'm not very eager for history to repeat itself that way._

Elrond II shuddered inwardly. _I think I've felt that memory sometime before._

Still silent, Celebrían stared at both Elrond I and II in dumbstruck disbelief. Her goblet of wine was completely forgotten, hovering halfway to her lips. Both halves of the elf gazed back at her; six eyes locked, holding eternity in a crystalline instant between them.

After what seemed like an age, yet no time at all, they were able to look away. Celebrían shivered, taking a slow sip of wine to settle her nerves. Elrond I painstakingly examined his fork, not daring to meet his other half's eye. Elrond II gazed silently at the back of his godfather's head, frowning as he studied the thoughts churning behind the long strands of raven hair.

Someone cleared his throat, breaking both the silence, and the tension that had built up in that silence. The elves laughed again as the atmosphere lightened, and the festivities went on as though nothing had just happened. But the memories still lingered.

----

That evening, Elrond and Elwing were asked if they would spend the night in Lothlórien, and maybe even a few more days. Both elves agreed readily, and were given fine lodging.

Lying between her son's two bodies, waiting to fall asleep, Elwing gazed peacefully up at Eärendil's star, smiling as her husband's unwavering light and love poured over her. She could almost hear his sweet voice on the wind, whispering to more people than just her: _I love you, my darlings. I'm watching over you. I miss you so much…_

A lone tear glistened in the bluish-white starlight as it traced Elwing's cheek. _I miss you too, love. We both do, Elrond and I. I hope your light can reach the Halls of Mandos, for Elros' sake._

_So do I, _Eärendil seemed to sigh. _And for all the others whom I cared for and lost. Maybe my light can give them hope, if they can see it._

Strange, Elwing thought, how a silent conversation seemed to have begun. _Have you seen everything that has happened here, these past millennia?_

_I have seen everything. I watched as you and the Valar promised to protect Elrond for as long as the evil assailing him would last. I wept for Elros and Cirdan when they died, and also for Gil-galad and Celebrimbor; though I did not know them, I knew they were good friends of Elrond._

Elwing nodded, just in case her husband could truly see her. _Yes. Elrond still misses them all terribly. I'm not sure that anything can fill some of the holes in his two hearts._

_Maybe all he needs is time._

----

Two days later, the celebration was still in full swing. Maglor arrived in Caras Galadhon the morning of the second day; the lord of Mithlond was greeted warmly and personally by Galadriel and Celeborn, just as Elrond and Elwing had been. The half-elf himself met Maglor with a smile and a brotherly hug.

"Good to see you again, _mellon nin._"

Maglor couldn't hold back a chuckle. "It's only been a week."

"Seven days can pass extremely slowly sometimes," said Elrond I, a hint of false reproof in his voice. Then he grinned good-naturedly. "So, how was your first week as the lord of the Grey Havens?"

"Hectic," the son of Fëanor replied, shaking his head. "But I'm surviving."

"I'm glad to hear it," Elrond I smiled. "You're, ah… settling in well?"

"Well enough," Maglor shrugged. "But Gil-galad's bedchamber is a little spacious for my taste."

At the echo of that name they both fell silent, sharing a moment of remembrance of their lost kinsman.

At length Elrond I looked up slowly and said, "There is a time and a place for everything: a time to grieve, and right now, a time to rejoice. Come and join the _tyala_." (celebration)


	54. Silver, Secrets and Shadows

**Chapter Fifty-Three: Silver, Secrets and Shadows**

The elves were dancing now, twirling like windblown flowers in time to the melodies of harp, flute and violin that drifted through the air. Elrond I and Maglor moved to join them and were soon swept up in the dancers' midst.

Elrond I was first partnered with a petite, green-eyed elleth, as Maglor danced gracefully with a woman who was either naturally much taller than him, or was wearing incredibly lofty shoes. The half-elf soon noted his partner sneaking glances at another elf, when she thought he wasn't looking. The elleth's target was an elf-warrior named Haldir, who was Galadriel's Marchwarden.

Elrond I recalled Haldir from his past: the Marchwarden had perished bravely in a terrible battle in the human city of Helm's Deep, which had been under siege by ten thousand of Sauron's orcs. Haldir had not been married then; in this life, Haldir seemed to be courting the elleth Elrond I now had his arms around. The half-elf silently wished them both long, happy lives together.

A few minutes later, as the elleth twirled away, Elrond I found himself hand in hand with Galadriel, as the music poured leisurely and sweetly forth. He led her in an elegant waltz, and the golden-haired lady struck up a quiet conversation as they glided elegantly around the lawns of Caras Galadhon.

"Is all that I have heard true?" she asked her dance partner softly. "Is my cousin, Maglor, the new lord of Mithlond?"

Elrond I nodded, stealing a sidelong glance at the son of Fëanor, who was gaily weaving his way through the dancers some distance away. "He is; he was granted the title by King Gil-galad… Eru rest his soul," he added in a murmur.

Galadriel bowed her head in respectful acknowledgment. She looked up after a moment and asked carefully, "And the ring, Vilya… did Maglor inherit that as well?"

"Yes." The half-elf frowned abruptly as something sunk in. "You just called Maglor your cousin?"

Galadriel smiled. "I did; he is the son of my father's brother – the last of his bloodline, if what he told me is also accurate."

Elrond I nodded again, his insides wriggling in rekindled guilt. "It is. All of his brothers are slain, as well as Maglor's nephew, Celebrimbor."

The lady of Lothlórien was silent for a while, solemnly working over this knowledge. She and her daughter were Maglor's last living relatives, and indirect ones at that. Grave news indeed – too much so for a time such as this; she decided swiftly that a variation of topic would not be unwelcome.

"Your godson appears to have taken quite a liking to my daughter," she smiled benignly, looking nonchalantly around as Elrond I spun her. She nodded discreetly in the direction of Elrond II and Celebrían, both of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves completely as they danced together nearby.

Elrond I laughed. "She seems to like him just as well."

Galadriel nodded. She was silent for a while before speaking up again: "Could I perhaps speak privately with you sometime later?"

"Of course," Elrond I replied willingly. "I'd be happy to."

The lady of the wood smiled as the music quickened to a lively pace, and she was caught up by another dancer.

"Meet me by the fountain tonight at sunset," she called to the half-elf as she spun away.

"I won't be late," he promised.

----

As the sun crawled reluctantly down toward the western horizon, Elrond II walked side-by-side with Celebrían through the trees of the forest. The silver-haired maiden gazed up at the gold-tinged sunset sky that was barely visible between twining boughs, smiling at the young lord who was her escort.

"Your father's star will be rising soon," she commented. "I've watched him every night and every morning since he first appeared."

Elrond II nodded fondly. "So have I. I can't explain it, but sometimes I can just feel him watching me, shining his light upon the road I know I must walk." He sighed. "I thought I was so sure of where life would lead, but now I'm not so certain. Everything I thought I knew is changing; sometimes it's for the better, sometimes for the worse. There's no real black and white anymore… it's all grey, and grey can be _anything._ It can be nearly black, or nearly white, or silver…"

"Silver?" Celebrían echoed with a bright laugh. "That's part of my name. Mother always used to call me her 'little Silver Princess'… when I was a child, of course. Now she says I'm a Silver Queen."

"Silver Queen," the half-elf murmured. "It suits you. If we're exchanging names, mine is 'Star-Dome'. My parents loved Varda very much," he added, rather unnecessarily

"No wonder," Celebrían smiled. "They say the stars are Varda's children, and your father is one of them now… it's almost as if she's your grandmother, or something similar."

"Those are just my thoughts!" Elrond II cried. Then he laughed. "But I like 'aunt' better."

He glanced down suddenly at the sound of a soft _crunch_, and winced, noticing a flattened flower poking out from under his left shoe. He moved his foot quickly and tried to make the blossom stand erect, but its stem had snapped in many places, and its muddied petals drooped pitifully.

"I've killed it," he muttered dejectedly.

Celebrían moved to his side, gazing down at the flower as well. "Not many people would stop to try and fix something like that," she remarked. "Most would just leave it and walk on."

"I happen to like flowers a lot, thank you very much," Elrond II told her; there was a very good chance Vána might have been somewhere nearby, listening. But it was the truth, in any case. "And now I've gone and ruined one."

"Things don't have to be whole for them to be beautiful," said Celebrían quietly, looking calmly up at him. "Sometimes a thing that looks lovely when it's in one piece turns out to be even more attractive when it's broken."

The half-elf couldn't help but feel her gaze, when she spoke those cryptic words, passing right through him.

----

Shadows fell gently through the wood, cloaking the figure of Elrond I as he made his way to the fountain surrounded by softly glowing lamps. Galadriel was seated there, waiting for him; she nodded for him to sit beside her on the bench. She spoke to the half-elf as he did so.

"I have been waiting to tell you this for a long time now," she said quietly, gazing at him with total calm in her face and in her voice. "You need not be alarmed; your secret is safe with me."

Elrond I's first, instinctive reaction was denial. "Secret? What secret?"

"Come now, Master Elrond," Galadriel smiled warmly. "You know of what I speak."

Something in the woman's gaze drove him to continue. The half-elf spoke out with great caution. "You know who I really am, don't you?"

A single, silent nod was her reply. Elrond I stared deep into her face, murmuring into her mind. _Who told you this?_

_I found it out for myself,_ she answered in the same way, _and not entirely willingly._

He frowned, his eyebrows knitting in obvious disapproval. _What did you do, barge into my head?_

_Inadvertently, perhaps. I stumbled onto some very intriguing thoughts, and was… drawn onward, so to speak._ She smiled wryly. _Your subconscious is **extremely **stubborn, did you know that?_

He chose to ignore that observation. _When did this happen?_

_Two days ago,_ Galadriel answered.

Elrond I's next words were even more cautious. _What did you find out?_

_Not very much, but enough to pique my curiosity. I know that you and your godson are the same person in two bodies, sharing one soul; and I know that you possess the Valar's personal guardianship against evil. Other than that, not much is clear._

_I'm not at all certain I would be permitted to disclose anything more,_ the half-elf told her. _I think you know as much as you need to._

Galadriel nodded and smiled in a reassuring way as she replied, _Not a word of this shall pass my lips, I promise you._

Elrond I smiled thankfully, but turned his head as he heard someone call out behind them. "Elrond?"

"Yes?" the half-elf replied, standing and facing the direction of the voice.

He smiled as Elwing emerged from the shadows into the lamplight, a relieved expression on her face. Elrond and Galadriel both rose to greet her in elven custom, and Elwing gave a nod to the lady of Lothlórien before moving to kiss her son on the cheek.

"My lady, you have the wrong elf," said Elrond I, just as her soft lips brushed his skin. "If you're looking for Elrond the _Second_, I think I saw him go up to bed a few minutes ago."

"Oh, yes." Elwing's cheeks flushed a vivid pink as she moved back. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, but it's rather difficult to tell the two of you apart these days… he's grown to look so much like you, not to mention that your voices are exactly alike."

"Indeed," Elrond I smiled. "Strange coincidences, aren't they?"

"Well, you _have_ been taking care of him for his entire life; it's not really surprising that he's adopted some of your, shall I say… attributes," Elwing laughed.

"Adopted my attributes?" Elrond I cried with a sudden snort of laughter. "My dear good woman, your son has 'adopted' my _eyebrows!_"

All three elves succumbed to fits of mirth at that point, and had to hold each other upright as the hilarity of that statement overwhelmed them.

Elwing brushed tears of merriment from her eyes as she gasped breathlessly to her son's elder half, "You know, I hadn't really noticed that before… your eyebrows, you say?"

Elrond I was now practically hiccupping with laughter. "How could you _not_ have noticed it, after all these years?"

Galadriel was still a short distance from being her usual calm, cool, collected self, but she managed to suggest with not so much as an ounce less dignity, "Perhaps we should all get to bed before it gets too late." A thin crescent of moon was already quite high in the star-freckled sky.

"An excellent idea," Elrond I nodded. He turned casually to his mother, saying, "Shall we turn in?"

----

"That was _far_ too close for my liking," Elrond I muttered to Elwing as they settled down on their treetop platform for the remainder of the night. "It was very clever of you to bluff your way out of kissing me like that. Interesting evasive tactics."

"I'm just surprised you didn't slip and call me 'Mother'." Elwing's smile was benevolent.

"So am I." Elrond I propped himself up on his elbow, gazing deep into his mother's eyes. "But just so you know, I _did_ appreciate that kiss."

Elwing smiled quietly as she snuggled into her blankets and let her eyes cloud over. "Go to sleep, dear."

He tried his best to listen to her, but slumber seemed to be avoiding him like the plague. He glanced to his own left, meeting Elrond II's half-shut eyes. Elrond I, noticing that the younger elf was still awake, whispered two words into his counterpart's ears.

"_She knows._"

"What?" his godson hissed. "Who?"

"Lady Galadriel knows about us," the elder elf murmured. "She told me that she sort of… accidentally broke into our memories. She found out only a small amount, but then asked me to tell her the rest."

"Did you?" Elrond II whispered nervously.

"No… I wasn't sure if I should. Lord Mandos could have had something else in his mind, some other plan he'd heard from Eru. I thought it best not to meddle."

Elrond II gave a low whistle. "That makes four people, besides the Valar, who know who we really are."

"Three," Elrond I corrected him softly. "Only three people know now."

His godson nodded. "Yes. Of course."

----

Once the elf had fallen asleep, a silent, grey-clad figure materialized on the platform. His silvery hair glimmered in the moonlight as he knelt beside Elrond II and laid a hand upon his brow. He withdrew it a few moments later, having successfully planted and nourished the seed of a dream.

Lórien smiled lovingly down at his slumbering charge, whose eyes were wide and glazed, reflecting starlight. The Dream-lord, having finished his duty for the time being, rose and answered the call that whispered into his own mind… his elder brother's voice.

The Vala shed his body, gliding smoothly toward the source of the voice. He reappeared in a narrow dell in the wood, alongside the dark figure of Mandos. The Doomsman's face was pale and grim in the moonlight.

"What is it?" Lórien asked softly. "What is wrong?"

"Morgoth is now far nearer to Elrond than ever before," Mandos whispered urgently. "He has been defeated nine times now, and this has infuriated him. He knows his time for war is half-spent. Soon he shall choose to utilize his Element… and something else."

The Dream-lord shuddered; he well remembered the Element, in all of its subtle cunning. But what else could Morgoth be plotting? Námo had sounded much more concerned with 'something else'. What new methods of destruction could the Dark Lord concoct?

The Doomsman's reply to his silent queries was eerie and puzzling.

"_Think of it thus, or think of it not. Heat is cold, and chill is hot. Opposites shall twist and turn; flame shall freeze and ice shall burn. Gifts shall come well into play, when darkness clashes with the day. One last game shall set the score, else we shall fail forevermore._"


	55. Plans and Powers

**Chapter Fifty-Four: Plans and Powers**

Elrond II awoke the next morning with a smile of perfect happiness on his lips. An early morning breeze had tickled the elf's face just enough to rouse him; he smiled cheerily as he sat up and stretched. Today was already shaping up to be a good day, and the memory of last night's sweet dream only improved the matter. Life was beautiful.

The sky was a hazy grey-blue shade, hinting that dawn was still a short way off. Elrond II tiptoed down the spiraling stairway to the ground, and reveled in the feeling of cool, dew-dampened grass beneath his bare feet. He smiled up at the far-away, radiant light that was Eärendil's star, and his father (quite literally) beamed lovingly back at him.

"You're up early," said a soft, familiar feminine voice from behind him.

Elrond II turned, smiling and nodding his head courteously to Celebrían. "So are you," he laughed.

Celebrían laughed as well, sending the half-elf into a state of utter, silent ecstasy. How he loved that sound! Her given name may have included 'silver', but her laughter was pure gold, as bright and as rich as the leaves of any _mallorn_. It tinkled gladly into his ears like the sound of falling rain, making his heart ripple with bliss.

_Is this love?_ the half-elf wondered to himself. It must have been – if his godfather was as trustworthy now as he had always been, then Elrond II and Celebrían were predestined to be together forever. He certainly wasn't objecting to the arrangement, not in the least.

Celebrían wordlessly studied the young elf-lord's face, as casually as possible. There was just something about him that made her heart thrash against her ribs, sending hot and cold shudders coursing through her. Every time she met his soft, kind eyes, she forgot exactly where she was…

Before either of them realized it, they were moving closer and closer to each other… their eyes were locked, each pair of pale sky-blue orbs pulling tenderly at the other… the earth stood still for a moment, just for the two of them…

In that instant, neither of them were quite certain what happened next, but a moment later Celebrían was halfway into a kneeling position, she and Elrond II were holding tightly to one another, and the silver-haired maiden was laughing somewhat self-consciously as she allowed the half-elf to help her upright.

"I'm terribly sorry," she apologized, her eyes dancing with an odd light, "it was my fault, honestly. I should have been watching my step; this dress is a little longer than the ones I normally wear. I should really try to shorten it…"

"Not a problem, my lady, not a problem at all," Elrond II replied amiably.

Celebrían gave another chuckle as she looked down at the skirt which all but hid her bare feet. "Well, so much for the 'natural grace' of our kindred." She toed the grass diffidently with her right foot.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Elrond II smiled. "I've known a number of accident-prone elves in my time, not the least of which is myself. Just ask Maglor or my godfather, they would be happy to tell you all about my misadventures."

"You're just saying that," the maiden blushed, turning her face demurely away from him.

"I beg to differ, milady," a male voice chortled.

Elrond II raised an eyebrow as he turned to the speaker. "Very well, Maglor, speak your piece."

The lord of Mithlond nodded to the two other elves before he spoke again. "What Elrond says is absolutely true. I couldn't tell you much about his infancy years, but onward from the age of four, I know for a fact he was a _complete_ scoundrel. He and his twin brother, Elros – thick as thieves, the pair of them." Maglor laughed in fond nostalgia. "They never spent so much as ten minutes separately; they were always within five feet of each other. Always."

Elrond II nodded in agreement, feeling tears of bittersweet reminiscence stab at his eyes. He brushed his sleeve hastily across his face, glancing to his left as Celebrían laid a soft, sympathetic hand upon his shoulder. At the kindness of this gesture, he couldn't help but smile.

----

From a platform high above, three pairs of blue eyes watched the entire scene. The owner of one pair turned to his nearest comrade, sighing, "How will this work out? He's going to fall in love with her sooner or later, if he hasn't already started to, and then he'll want to court her…"

"Is that not a _good_ thing?" asked the second observer, tucking a lock of silver hair behind his ear as he frowned at his friend.

"Well, yes," the first watcher – Elrond the First – admitted hesitantly. "But it means he'll have to travel here sometimes, and as Lord Mandos told me, my godson and I can never be any more than five miles apart. I _really_ don't want to have to tag along all the time. It would look peculiar if I followed him every single time he left Rivendell. I've had wholly legitimate excuses all the time before, but this is important."

The second figure – Lórien – nodded pensively. "It is a dilemma, and my brother's words are true. I am not certain what would occur, were you to surpass the maximum, but I can assume it would be catastrophic." He smiled reassuringly, much to Elrond I's surprise. "I also believe that we can triumph over it."

"How, sire?" wondered the third observer, her eyebrows quirking.

Lórien's eyes danced in the radiance of daybreak as he addressed her. "Do you remember how I halted your son's untimely end during the months in which he worked on building _Vingilot_ with Eärendil?"

The woman, Elwing, only had to think for a moment. "You brought my babies and I with you, when you followed him secretly to Balar…"

"Precisely," the Dream-lord declared. "And the very same thing can be done for you now in this time and place," he added, turning toward Elrond I. "I can transport you here after your other half, at a safe distance."

Elrond I smiled confidently. "It sounds like it could work."

Lórien nodded, and all at once gave a cheerful laugh. "It is ironic, isn't it? Time is folding over upon itself! In the midst of your past being repeated, your past is, well…"

"Being repeated?" Elrond I grinned, finishing the sentence for him.

"Precisely!"

Their merriment echoed joyously out and downward, cascading like a waterfall of sound, into the ears of the elves standing below. All three looked up, trying to discern who it was that had just laughed. But the treetop platform was too high for any of them to see onto it. The three friends shrugged absently, and turned back to their conversation just as though it hadn't been interrupted.

"I'm going to be sorry to leave this place," Elrond II lamented to Celebrían. "Your home is beautiful."

"Then by all means, stay for as long as you wish to," the maiden replied invitingly. "My parents wouldn't mind in the least."

"I couldn't," the half-elf sighed regretfully. "I have a city of my own to keep. Believe me, if I could stay, I would."

High above their heads, Elrond I frowned impatiently as he observed what was going on. He crept toward the edge of the platform as he muttered anxiously under his breath, even though he knew his godson wouldn't be able to hear his voice from that distance. But he knew Elrond II _would_ hear his thoughts.

"Come on," he urged, both aloud and silently, "invite her to come to Imladris…"

Lórien and Elwing both grabbed the elf-lord's collar as he threatened to plunge headfirst from the dais; half of his torso was above several feet of empty air. Elrond I inched back a little, but still murmured to his other half in an insistent undertone. "I'm sure she'd _love_ to visit you sometime…"

Elrond II caught his godfather's thoughts, smiling quietly as they echoed in his mind. He decided to take the hints he was given.

"You're more than welcome to come to Imladris any time you wish to," he told Celebrían cheerily. "Consider yourself invited once and for all."

She smiled, instantly warming up to the proposal. "I'd like that very much."

Elrond I grinned victoriously as he heard his other half's thoughts reverberating with this triumph. Things were already beginning to fall into place. The whole matter was working out far better than he had expected. What could possibly go wrong now?

Lórien forcibly suppressed a shudder as he unwittingly heard the elf's last thought. More things would soon be going wrong than even the Dream-lord himself knew of. Every bed of roses had its thorns.

----

It took a few more days for the festivities to wind down. Elrond, Elwing and Maglor were among the last guests to take their leave; it was with no great alacrity that they set out for their homes. Their horses were saddled, bridled and laden with provisions lent to them by Galadriel and Celeborn, who, along with Celebrían, had come to bid the trio of travelers a fond farewell.

"_Vanya sulie,_" (Fair winds) said Celeborn graciously. "Until next we meet."

"_Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n'omenta gurtha,_" (May the leaves of your life-tree never turn brown) Elrond I replied kindly. "Thank you again for your most excellent hospitality, my lord."

The two lords shared a fleeting, friendly smile, and they nodded to each other as the three departing comrades gently urged their horses forth, waving and calling out last goodbyes over their shoulders. Elrond II was quite surprised, yet gratified when Celebrían blew him a kiss; he "caught" it and pressed his fingers to his lips before returning the gesture with a slightly mischievous smile.

They soon rode around a bend and out of the trees, leaving Lothlórien's green and golden halls shining in their wake.

----

Mandos silently paced the corridors of Rivendell, looking neither to the left, nor the right, but only straight ahead as he walked. He had a single purpose in his mind: to summon the other Valar and Elrond for what would be their third gathering of congress, no less urgent or dismal than the previous two.

This was happening far too much.

Sixteen places were set for the fifteen councilors; Elrond I's bedroom had yet again been cleared to make room. The Doomsman moved to his customary chair between Oromë and Lórien, and remained standing when the others sat. He spoke when Manwë nodded once.

"Once again, my kindred, we find ourselves assembled in the hopes of diverting tragedy," Mandos said with surprising calm in his deep voice. "The strength of Morgoth's dark will has multiplied against Elrond, more so than ever before.

"I have called you here now not only to tell you of the Enemy's plans, but also to assign wholly critical tasks to a select few of you. One of you needs not begin his duties until a much later date, but it would be for the best to address all three of you now. Aulë, Oromë, and Irmo…" the Doomsman nodded to each Vala in turn, "…I shall convene with you in private tonight."

The Smith, the Huntsman and the Lord of Dreams all nodded their consent, although they knew they had little choice to defy their kinsman's verdict. Satisfied, Mandos turned back to the general congregation, who until that point had been muttering amongst themselves. Now they gazed at the Doomsman in a captivated silence, not wanting to miss so much as a word.

"On the subject of our enemy," Mandos continued, "I must inform you of his most recent contrivances. His greatest servant has been cast out into the Void, and half of his attacks are now spent. Morgoth knows full well that his chances of destroying Elrond are steadily slimming, so he has decided that he will, sometime soon, invoke his Element all the more deeply."

Elrond I stiffened at the last words. The Element… he remembered something about that: the power of Darkness, spread out across the earth, concentrated in certain substances. He recalled at least one of those to be gold… the primary component of most of the Rings of Power.

Like the one he now wore on his right ring finger.

_But Sauron was destroyed, _insisted a new voice in his thoughts. _The Rings have no power anymore! That can't be true! _

But Mandos' words were always true.

The half-elf's insides writhed agonizingly with the tension of the conflict. What was there to be certain about? Was the Element going to be called upon or not? What was right, and what was wrong? Truth and falsities bled into one another, confusing his sense of reason into a sultry fog.

The next voice was resonant and calm, cooling the hot vapor of his brain; but the comfort it offered was much too frigid to placate him, and he was plunged instead deep into an icy fear.

_Sauron has been destroyed, truly, but his might lingers, for it is a copy of his Master's. The Element runs through all the veins of the world, and into that of which many things are wrought. You were correct in your first ruminations – Narya, too, is connected to this power, and so is Aiglos._

_But I thought I was supposed to use Aiglos to battle Morgoth!_ cried Elrond, turning to look at the Doomsman. _How can I possibly use his own power against him?_

Mandos' reply was only three words long: _You will see._


	56. Different Sorts of Teachers

**Chapter Fifty-Five: Different Sorts of Teachers**

Twilight descended like a deep blue veil of translucent satin over the world, pouring into cracks and gaps as it touched them. Concealed from the night's first stars and from prying eyes, four Valar met in a torchlit chamber for a secret discussion of an urgent matter.

In the red-orange firelight, Mandos seemed to shimmer crimson as he stood facing three companions. Aulë, Oromë and Lórien sat watching him, dread-laced expectancy obvious in their faces. None of them knew what tasks they would receive, but they all knew they would be vital to Elrond's survival. The little knowledge they had told them as much.

"Listen well, all of you," said the Doomsman sternly to his kinfolk. "I will not repeat this. Each one of you will be given a specific assignment to perform with Elrond, to ready him for what is still to come. For the most part, these tasks shall be relevant to your individual natures, and to your duties as Valar of Eru. But there will be some… great exceptions."

The other three Valar stared at one another in silent confusion, but a warning glance from Mandos caused them to snap back to attention like taut bowstrings that had been plucked. The dark-haired Vala addressed each one of his companions in sequence.

_Aulë,_ he began, reverting to telepathic speech, _your task is to tutor Elrond the First in the art of controlling fire. He **must** learn to master his Ring before its energy is claimed by another. You will begin tomorrow evening._

Aulë gave a single nod of agreement; this was certainly something he could do with great ease. Fire was an essential part of his area of exceptional expertise, working and shaping metals. It would be no bother to him at all; in fact it would be beneficial for both of them.

Satisfied, Mandos swiveled his gaze toward Oromë. _You shall have the task of training Elrond the Second in fighting with his spear, Aiglos. He shall need every ounce of the aid he can obtain. You are to commence in two days' time._

Oromë consented wordlessly as well; he was extremely skilled with the spear, in addition to being a matchless archer. The Doomsman smiled gratefully at him before turning lastly to his own younger brother. _Irmo – your task, when the need comes, shall be to…_

But Lórien wasn't listening; he was turned toward the closed door, with an odd, mingled expression upon his face: something between subdued happiness and relief. He rose from his chair in one fluid motion and stepped toward the door, remarking evenly, "Duty calls, Námo. I have some dreams to deliver in person tonight."

"You will stay," Mandos replied curtly, his brows knitting in obvious disapproval. "Or do you not accept your task?"

"As I do not yet realize what my assignment is to be, I can neither readily agree to it, nor can I decline it," the Dream-lord told him matter-of-factly. "Do you really wish for me to keep my subjects waiting for very long? You must know they have come to expect me."

"They can wait for a moment," said the Doomsman, his hushed voice slowly sharpening like the blade of a knife. "I must inform you of what you are to undertake."

Lórien nodded slowly, and calmly seated himself again. "If you insist… go on."

Mandos nodded as well, and mentally revealed the Dream-lord's obligations to him.

Even before he heard the last words, Lórien's face went as pale as his brother's. He stared up at the Doomsman through scared, but unyielding eyes, and spoke a single soft word.

"_No._"

"No?" Mandos repeated softly, his slender eyebrows lifting dangerously. "You refuse?"

"No," said the younger Vala once again, with a shake of his silver head. His gaze slowly strengthened as he stared his brother down. "I can't do this, Námo. I will not… I refuse to accept it."

The Doomsman's eyes flickered a weird, frosty crimson hue, and he drew himself up to a fearsome height. His voice rumbled like thunder around the chamber, causing the torches to almost extinguish themselves, as if they too were frightened of him and wished to hide.

"You dare to defy it?" he hissed.

"I do," said Lórien, drawing himself up as well. The Dream-lord was a little shorter than Mandos most of the time, but in the might of his resistance he seemed even to tower over his brother. "I will _not_ manufacture nightmares, and nor will I deliver them to anyone."

"That decision is not yours to make," said Mandos coolly. "You forget that these words, these judgments, are not of my devising. They come from the very mouth of Eru Himself. Ask forgiveness now, or face the wrath of your Creator in His condemnation."

Aulë and Oromë had been wordlessly watching the scene unfold, still seated side-by-side. Now, Aulë in particular shuddered visibly at the Doomsman's words. For he himself had once blatantly disobeyed Eru, and had created the race of Dwarfs even before the first of the Elves and Men had been made. The Smith knew exactly how it felt to face Eru's rage; he hoped the Lord of Dreams would fare better than he had.

Lórien's frame also trembled, as he squeezed his eyes quickly and tightly shut. When he opened them again, they were full to their brims with all-too-familiar, hot, stinging tears.

"Very well," he whispered, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotion. "I will do as you say."

Mandos nodded without a word, but he was sure his brother wasn't speaking only to _him_.

----

Elrond I perched rather uneasily on the edge of his bed, waiting for Aulë to enter for their first fire-control training session. He stared constantly down at the ring on his right hand, wondering silently how in all of Arda he was going to master it.

_With time and practice,_ the Smith answered him telepathically, smiling reassuringly at him as he swirled effortlessly into sight. His hair glimmered like burnished bronze in the sunlight that flooded in through the bedroom window, and his eyes sparkled pleasantly as Elrond I stood up and bowed to him.

"We are here tonight as equals, Elrond," Aulë laughed aloud, gently chiding him.

"There is still a distinct boundary between us, sire, being as we are, instructor and pupil," Elrond I replied matter-of-factly, but in good nature.

The Vala clapped him amiably on the shoulder with a gloved hand and turned to the elf's desk, conjuring a chair for himself next to the one that was already there. He gave Elrond a nod as an indicator to sit, as he did so himself and snapped his fingers.

Immediately a scroll of parchment, a deep stone basin and a pitcher of water materialized on the desk before them. Aulë tore the parchment into numerous long strips, and handed one to his companion and setting the rest of them aside for the moment.

He looked over at Elrond, who was frowning at the parchment in obvious confusion, and told him, "I will begin with tutoring you in calling up and channeling intense heat, in the hopes of setting this parchment on fire. Although, as this is your first attempt, I would be more than satisfied if you succeeded only in slightly raising your own body temperature."

Elrond I nodded, staring at the parchment in his hand as though he wished to set it ablaze with his eyes alone. Aulë chuckled again when he saw this.

"Determination is always a key factor, but too much can be dangerous. Fire is an unruly thing; it will come to you, but it will not want to be controlled. You must show it that _you_ have domination. You must be firm and demanding, sometimes cruel. When you want the fire to perform as you wish, you do not say 'please'; you stand before it and shout until it obeys. You must make it submissive. You must make it respect you.

"Now, I want you first to relax, and concentrate on summoning heat through Narya. This will entail a gentle appeal, but use caution – the response will be _extremely_ zealous. Bring the heat up into yourself from beneath the surface of the earth, from far below your feet, where liquid stone and metal boil eternally…"

The elf complied without a word, shutting his eyes and letting his body loosen as Narya's ruby flared into crimson light. The sensation was like that of his godson summoning ice, he mused, but in the opposite direction… He asked quite politely for the fire to rise, and it jumped up in exhilaration, infusing his being, bubbling and seething…

Sweat prickled his skin and dripped down, soaking him thoroughly. He had the heat, and it was enough; now he had to cut off the flow and control what he held. But the flames in him were unruly; as Aulë had warned him, they _certainly_ didn't want to be halted, nor did they appreciate being channeled. They kept mounting, surging out of control…

Elrond's mind was blurred by screaming, red-hot mist. He tried to face the blaze, to make his voice heard above the roar of the inferno, but the raucous flames just leapt out at him, taunting him, forcing him to back down, or else feel the perilous passion of their fanatical glee…

"_Farn!_" (Enough!) Aulë cried out, lapsing momentarily into the Elvish tongue; his strong voice was akin to the tolling of a brazen bell. "_Tanya farnuva!_" (That will suffice!)

As though they were responding to the Vala's rebuke, the flames died down; the majority of the heat reluctantly shrank away from the elf, but quite a considerable amount was left behind. Elrond I swayed unsteadily back and forth in his seat, but Aulë caught him below the arm, helped him to stand and led him gently to his bed.

"There now, that was _very_ good for a first endeavor," the Smith complimented the elf as he lay down. "We shall try this again in three days; that will grant you plenty of time to recover, and we will make an attempt to strengthen your conviction next time. But for the moment—" here he removed one glove and felt the elf's rather clammy forehead with his bare hand "—I should summon Estë. You have quite a fever."

"Thank you very much, my lord," Elrond I smiled weakly.

----

Oromë paced calmly in a silent ring around Elrond II, examining him from every angle as they prepared for their first session. Both elf and Huntsman had their hair tied back, and were clothed in loose-fitting robes; Oromë wore deep scarlet garments, while Elrond had sky-blue ones.

They stood in a large room that had been specially set up for this purpose: the floor was covered by mats, just in case a fall needed to be broken. They both held long, blunt-ended staffs in lieu of actual spears. These would be sufficient to prevent any major injuries, but even so, Estë had wisely agreed to stand by on the sidelines.

The Huntsman stopped his pacing before Elrond, and at last spoke to him. His first words came in the form of a question: "Have you had any previous experience in spar- or spear-fighting, Elrond?"

"I… did watch Gil-galad practice fighting with Aiglos once," Elrond II replied with quite a bit of difficulty, "when he was alive."

The Vala nodded, recognizing the elf's pain. "I see."

Elrond II gave a deep sniff, quickly recovering himself. "It's quite all right, sir."

"Very well," said Oromë calmly, though not without compassion. Then his voice adopted a business-like tone. "Now, listen carefully. I will not lecture you much, as I have found the best professors to be Action and Experience. These two have taught a great number of important lessons in their careers."

Elrond II nodded, understanding, and the Huntsman assumed a fighting stance. He spoke only two more words: "Attack me."

The half-elf nodded slowly, gripping the wooden staff firmly in his right hand as his eyes narrowed in determination. He circled Oromë carefully, then all at once gave a shout and lunged toward him, holding his staff as if it was a spear that he wished to thrust through the Vala's heart.

Oromë rapidly raised his spar; he deftly deflected the strike and sent Elrond II staggering sideways. Quickly regaining his balance, the half-elf leapt forth again, only to be knocked aside a second time. On the third attempt, he feinted – he gave the appearance of an intent to strike at the Huntsman's left shoulder, but at the last possible moment, just as the Vala lifted his arm to block him, the elf turned his aim to Oromë's now-unprotected chest.

The ploy was somewhat successful; the force of the attack sent Elrond II barreling into his opponent, and knocked them both to the floor. But Oromë's reflexes then kicked in, and with an almighty heave he flung the elf off himself and into the air. Elrond landed flat on his back a few yards behind the Vala, completely winded, and Estë rushed to assist him.

The Huntsman stood over his wheezing comrade, reaching down to help him upright. His eyes were not uncaring as he asked, "Why did I best you?"

Elrond II coughed for breath as he stood and answered, "Because I didn't really believe I could win?"

Oromë nodded. "You are correct. That is Lesson One. Never assume anything – you must _know_. Certainty is everything. Every blow you make must be part of your plan. One slip-up could prove to be your downfall."

He handed the half-elf back his staff, moving into the fighting position once more. "Now, attack me again."

----

The weeks trod unswervingly by, and Elrond's sessions with the Smith and the Huntsman proved more and more profitable. A particular schedule had been established; one day the half-elf would train with Aulë, the next day he would fight Oromë, and the third day gave him a chance to rest.

The elf gradually moved beyond fevers and bruises, to a point where he could make strips of parchment smoke, and endure increasingly longer rounds of fighting with Oromë. But he still didn't know what Lórien's task was going to be.

It was a few months afterward when Elrond II approached his godfather, looking acutely unsettled; he clutched a tightly-rolled scroll of parchment in his fist, and his eyes gleamed with a weird light.

"Is… everything all right?" the elder half-elf asked his godson. "Should I be nervous?"

"I'm not sure myself," Elrond II replied. "According to this—" he held out the scroll "—Galadriel, Celeborn and Celebrían are coming here soon."

"And?" Elrond I raised an eyebrow, a slight smile curling the edges of his mouth.

"Well…" Elrond II wrung his hands, his face flushing. His godfather entirely understood.

"You're in love with Celebrían, aren't you?"

The younger elf nodded without a word, his already bright blush deepening even further. Elrond I clapped him on the shoulder, beaming elatedly. "Brilliant! This is wonderful!"

Elrond II couldn't help but grin as well, although he just as soon grew edgy. "There's just one thing…"

"Yes?"

"How do I court her?"


	57. Courtship and Concerns

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to Radgastthebrown, who is, sadly, very ill at the moment. I extend my fondest sympathies to him, and pray for a speedy recovery.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Six: Courtship and Concerns**

Elrond I smiled. "How much I can tell you depends on how much time we have until they arrive, which is… what is it?"

"Two weeks," Elrond II replied at once. Then, catching his godfather's inquisitive frown, he added, "I memorized the letter."

Elrond I grinned as an ironic memory suddenly washed over him. "You learnt quickly."

The younger half-elf nodded. "I tried."

"Very good. That will be plenty of time for me to give you some advice about the strange and subtle art of courtship."

But Elrond II still had some doubts. "What if I foul up? What if she doesn't feel the same way about me? How will that affect things?"

"If it's meant to be, it will happen as it should," Elrond I reassured himself.

"But what if it _doesn't?_" Elrond II continued, his voice steadily increasing in pitch as his anxiety heightened. "What if… what if she mistakes you for me, and starts falling in love with _you_ instead?"

His godson _did_ have a point there, Elrond I mused. "That _would_ be a problem in the long run…"

"_And,_" Elrond II continued in an unnaturally high voice, "how are we going to explain to her about _us?_ Galadriel only knows because she was accidentally dragged into your head. What will we tell Celebrían? Should we even tell her?"

"Just calm down a bit, lad," said Elrond I, laying a hand on his other half's shoulder. "We can cross that bridge when it comes. For now, let's get started with that advice…"

----

"You seem to know just how to approach Celebrían very well already," Elrond I told his godson good-naturedly as they strolled down Imladris' sunlit halls, "and you two have a lot of common interests. You can expand on those easily; get her talking about something that both of you like – flowers, for instance – and maybe take her for a walk through the gardens by starlight. Or, you could give her a flower as a gift. Since she knows you don't like harming flowers, I strongly suggest you transplant it rather than pick it."

"Good idea," Elrond II nodded, his eyes growing dreamy. "I'll find her the most beautiful rose in the valley."

"Perfect. Most women adore roses anyway."

"Then what?" the younger elf asked.

"Well, relationships are like flowers – they take time to blossom," Elrond I replied. "Give her some of that; if she wants to be alone, then you should respect her. And above all, _be chaste_. There are a great deal of horrible people in the world who would want Celebrían for nothing more than a night of pleasure, or just to ravish her. You are not one of those people. Your love is true: you must prove to her that it is, and always will be."

"Yes," said Elrond II softly and solemnly. "I'll remember."

His godfather clapped him on the shoulder. "Then I think you're ready."

----

The fortnight soared by, and the expected trio from Lothlórien arrived in the middle of a ferocious midday rainstorm. They were eager to get into Imladris as soon as possible, for the sake of themselves and their horses.

"_Lovely_ weather we have here, don't you agree?" Elrond I said to Galadriel as he helped her down from her steed; his sarcasm was lucidly obvious.

The lady of Lothlórien laughed dryly (in a completely metaphorical sense), answering in the same tone. "Indeed, it is most idyllic."

"Well, with any good luck, things will be a little drier tomorrow," Elrond II put in, raising his voice to be heard above a booming thunderclap. "Ow!" he yelped abruptly, as a small but stinging hailstone collided painfully with the end of his nose, followed soon after by a much larger one. "We should hurry!"

They finally made it into the haven, just as the storm reached the height of its wrath. Rain and hail pelted the roofs, sounding like a constant drumroll above their heads. Luckily for the elves of Rivendell and Lothlórien, they were all safe and sound inside, cheered up and warmed up by merry laughter and roaring fires (the latter was helped along by Elrond I).

"Well, we all made it here safely," said Celeborn to Elrond II, "and I thank you for your kind hospitality."

"You and your kin are most welcome, my lord," the young half-elf replied graciously. "It is a great honor to have you among us."

"I am honored to be here," the silver-haired lord smiled.

Nearby, Elrond I and Galadriel were also absorbed deep in discussion. The golden-haired lady kept her voice hushed as she said, "Celebrían tells me that she has fallen in love with your godson."

The half-elf beamed. "Elrond the Second told me much the same thing two weeks ago."

Galadriel smiled calmly. "I expect he will desire to court her."

"He plans to start soon," Elrond I informed her, glancing discreetly over to his other half. "I think he'll want to give her a chance to settle in first."

"And once she is?"

Elrond sat back a little, smiling secretively. "He'll probably take her for late-night walks in the gardens, and give her flowers and so forth." He chuckled. "I don't imagine he'll be sleeping much."

Galadriel laughed. "The same might hold true for Celebrían. But no doubt, they can count on sweet dreams when they do sleep."

"Lord Lórien does cater to lovers," the half-elf nodded.

The lady of Lothlórien's eyes became a little cloudy. "Well, you would know more about that than I would, wouldn't you?"

Elrond I nodded mutely. But as he met his companion's gaze, a peculiar shudder coursed through him, and darkness flared for a moment before his eyes. He put his hand up to his head, noticing that Galadriel was doing the same.

_What was that?_ she asked him telepathically.

He shook his head in confusion. _I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet that it was nothing good._

Galadriel was still and hushed, staring down at her right hand, where Nenya, the Ring of Water, glittered in the firelight. Elrond I looked to his own ring, and saw Narya sparkling oddly. He knew that the Rings of Power were connected somehow, but this was bizarre… why had the room gone dark for a moment, just before then? Would it happen again?

He was not disappointed. Almost before the thought had congealed in his mind, a second wave of shadow overwhelmed them, accompanied by odd lightheadedness. Elrond stared around him, trying to see… were they the only ones affected, he and Galadriel? And what in Arda was happening?

This time the blackness was deeper, thicker… it seeped into their skin, into their minds… they both felt as though they were plunging into an endless abyss… they tried to cry out, but heard not a sound, until the black fiend, Unconsciousness, claimed them at last for his own.

----

"What happened?"

"They both fainted, right at the same time… no-one knows why…"

"Will they be all right?"

"I'm sure they're both fine… look, they're coming to already…"

Elrond I gave a moan as his senses came back to him. Hearing was the first one to arrive, followed in quite an orderly manner by Touch, Smell, Taste and finally Sight. The last of the five was incredibly disinclined, but it trudged along slowly after all the others. Elrond blinked, meeting the anxious eyes of the half-dozen healers who were standing over him.

"Thank the Valar," sighed a young elleth. "You gave us all quite a scare, my lord."

"Is Galadriel…?" the half-elf managed to whisper.

"I am fine," replied a voice to his left. Elrond I turned to see the lady of Lothlórien sitting up in a bed next to the one he lay in, a rather frightened look on her pale face. She spoke urgently into his mind: _We must discover the reason behind this. Has anything similar happened to you before?_

_No,_ he told her despairingly. _I'm just as confused as you are._

Galadriel nodded, casting a worried look to someone standing on the half-elf's other side. Elrond I followed her gaze, sighing in relief when he saw his godson there.

"Thank goodness you're both all right," Elrond II said softly and quite shakily. "We were all worried about the two of you."

"Well, whatever it was seems to have passed on," Elrond I told him, attempting to smile reassuringly. But he could tell his younger half wasn't even slightly convinced, and he let his face fall.

_We need to speak to Lord Mandos,_ Elrond I told his other self urgently. _Nothing good can have come from this, mark my words._

Elrond II nodded in silence. The same thought had been clamoring in his own mind, but for more reasons than one. The fainting spells were certainly inexplicable and potentially evil, but there was one more thing to consider…why, if the blackness had come from the source he imagined, had the younger elf not been affected at all? Weren't he and Elrond I connected in that way?

_**Weren't they?**_

----

The rest of the day passed far too slowly for Elrond I's taste. He wouldn't meet the eyes of anyone he passed in the corridors, with the exception of Galadriel, Celeborn, Celebrían and his younger half. He stared either at the floor or at Narya, adrift and floundering in a sea of confusion. If he and Galadriel had been affected, being the Ring-keepers that they were, would Maglor have been as well?

A brief conversation with Mandos cleared him of all doubt, but increased his fears. It was not only the keepers of the Rings of Fire and Water who had been subject to the darkness, but also Maglor, who bore the Ring of Air. According to the Doomsman, the lord of the Grey Havens was already preparing to leave for Rivendell.

Elrond I hoped he would get here quickly; he wanted all three Ring-keepers together for a council as soon as possible. For the meantime, the elder half-elf was determined to ensure that life would continue on as normal. He exchanged words with Elrond II, who resolved to begin his attempt to court Celebrían the next evening. His godfather wished him well, and smiled for the first time in quite a while.

----

The next day ambled by, and the sun emerged from the East, rose to her zenith and fell in the direction of the West horizon. As they had many months ago in Lothlórien, Elrond II and Celebrían wandered through the gardens of Imladris by the silvery light of the night's guardians: the round orb of the full moon, and Varda's children, the stars, not the least of whom was Eärendil.

The silver-haired maiden walked hand-in-hand with her companion, who held in his other hand a small earthenware pot, which held a single, gorgeous white rose. Elrond II hid this slyly behind his back, so that Celebrían wouldn't see it for the moment. He would show it to her when the time was right.

"These gardens are beautiful," Celebrían sighed, gazing about her in quiet awe. Blossoms that were of every hue by day, were all rendered silvery-white in the moonlight. Droplets of dew shimmered like tiny pearls on the silk and satin petals. The flowers stood in rows, looking for all the world like so many elegant young brides, waiting for their grooms at a mass wedding ceremony.

Elrond II nodded serenely. "Beautiful, like you."

Celebrían blushed furiously, turning away. "Oh, be quiet, you silver-tongued scoundrel!"

"Why, my silver-haired princess?" the half-elf smiled, subtly releasing her hand, folding his arm about her waist and staring into her face. "One would think you didn't appreciate hearing the truth."

"You're lucky my parents like you," she told him, a mischievous glint entering her eyes.

Elrond raised an eyebrow, not moving his hand. "Hmm?"

She laughed suddenly, filling the air with echoes of music, and turned her gaze down to a dew-laced blossom by her left foot. She stooped down a little, bringing her face close to it and inhaling its perfume with a soft, contented sigh.

Elrond II saw his moment. He bent to her level, holding the potted rose beneath her nose. She glanced at him, her eyes dancing, and took the pot in her own hands.

"I'd never pick a flower," the half-elf told her. "Why stop its life, when you can preserve it just as easily? A potted flower takes up only a little more space than one in a vase, and it lasts much longer." He nodded to the pale blossom and added, "Take a little of Imladris home with you."

Celebrían smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Elrond. I'll think of you whenever I look at it."

She reached up to her head, and brought her hand down again holding a few long, silver threads of her own hair. She pressed them into Elrond's hand, and he tucked them into his robe's breast pocket. "Thank _you,_ Celebrían. I'll treasure this little piece of Lothlórien."

He slid his other arm around her, pulling her close to him. He leaned slowly in toward her face, pausing just before their lips could meet, when Celebrían spoke.

"Elrond the Second," she said softly, staring up into his eyes, "am I right in guessing that you are trying to court me?"

He smiled, turning his head a little to whisper in her ear. "Yes, Celebrían of Lothlórien, I am."


	58. Hearts Entwining, Souls Unraveling

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: Hearts Entwining, Souls Unraveling**

Before Celebrían could blink, Elrond II kissed her lightly upon the cheek and leapt away, calling gleefully, "Catch me if you can!"

The maiden readily accepted the lighthearted challenge, and hurried after the half-elf. She caught up to him, returned his gesture and darted ahead herself. The two led each other in a merry dance through the moonlit garden, exchanging kisses and laughter, observed only by the stars and moon above… or so they thought.

A single, furtive pair of loathing and lusting grey eyes was also watching from a window nearby.

----

It took another week for Maglor to reach Imladris. Celeborn and Galadriel had insisted on remaining for that length of time, so much the better for Elrond I's plans. But Elrond I, Maglor and Galadriel had yet again fallen prey to the strange fainting spells, much to the anxiety of their companions. The three Ring-keepers gathered, along with Celeborn and Elrond II, in Elrond I's bedroom, which it seemed had become the ideal site for meetings, with a round table and five chairs set up.

Elrond I shifted uneasily in his seat, refusing to meet anyone's eye. Of the four comrades in the chamber, only one, besides the half-elf himself, knew the secret identities of Elrond I and II. Elrond I didn't know if Galadriel had told her husband about him yet; he hoped she hadn't. And he hadn't even told Maglor, who had been his friend for the longest time.

The elder half-elf suddenly gave a violent shudder, which was more like a convulsion. He gripped his godson's hand tightly under the table, receiving a gentle squeeze in reply. But a glance into Elrond II's eyes gave him no ease. Something extremely bad was imminent; they both knew it.

Elrond I looked to Galadriel just in time to notice her shudder also, every bit as forcefully as he had been. Then they both glanced at Maglor, whose hands were clenched doggedly upon the ends of the arms of his chair. His knuckles were remarkably white, and the noise of his grinding teeth was clearly audible in the substantial silence. No-one had yet spoken a word in all this time.

Galadriel cautiously sent a thought into Elrond I's mind: _If you have any inkling of what is going on, tell me what to do._

He slid his left hand slowly toward hers, clasping Elrond II's in his right. _Take both my hand and Maglor's. Maybe we can fight this off if the three of us work together._

She complied without a word (telepathic or otherwise), and not a moment too soon. There came a massive heave of blackness, the greatest that they had experienced so far. But this time they were ready; they would combat it and refuse to surrender.

_Resist this with all of your strength,_ Elrond I ordered his comrades. _Shun the shadows and embrace the Light. Do not stop until it has passed us. Fight!_

A strange, silent battle ensued as the Ring-keepers strove to vanquish the darkness within themselves. Narya, Nenya and Vilya shone steadily with scarlet, ivory and cerulean light, and Elrond, Galadriel and Maglor struggled to stay conscious and keep fighting. The only one not joining the conflict was Celeborn, who looked on helplessly, knowing that he was powerless to help or hinder anyone.

Elrond I called on the power of Fire to defeat the blackness. The flames would give him a light to banish the evil. Recalling all of Aulë's teachings, he drew up the fire and allowed it to blaze throughout his entire being, flooding him with radiance and heat, scorching the fingers of the one who was trying to crush him, and forcing that one to let go.

Galadriel summoned the might of all the Waters of Ulmo to help her. Rivers and streams of energy tumbled down in reply to her call; fountains sprang up to perform her bidding, and oceans sent out unending waves. She would drown the darkness, and rinse every last remnant of its being from her.

Maglor was still a novice in regards to the use of his own ring; he knew of its power, but had never before attempted to make use of it. Now he falteringly beseeched the force of the Winds, pleading with them to rage through him and drive away the shadow. He soon received a response; every progeny of Manwë, from breezes up to gales, seemed to storm into his soul, thrusting the blackness out and away, and setting him free.

The three comrades all slumped backward in their seats, their eyes closed, breathing hard. Celeborn leaned over his wife in trepidation while Elrond II ministered to his elder half. The younger elf laid a hand upon Elrond I's febrile forehead, and let a small, carefully-measured dose of icy energy escape him. The elder half-elf sighed, his tense body slowly relaxing as his temperature dropped back to a safe, normal level. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly as he sat up.

Elrond II exhaled heavily in relief, turning to his friends. "Is everyone else all right?"

There was a general mutter of assent from the others, who were all sitting up by this time. Elrond I glanced down at Narya; its ruby was no longer ablaze with light, nor were any of the other rings' jewels. The elf sighed. "Well… well done, everyone."

_Indeed,_ whispered Mandos' voice in his mind, _well done._

Elrond I gave a small smile, but Celeborn's voice soon broke through his thoughts. "But what _was_ that?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know," said Maglor, glancing perceptibly in Elrond's direction. The others followed his gaze, and Elrond I swallowed nervously. His voice was halting at first, but it soon grew firmer as he continued to speak.

"That, my friends, was what is known as the Morgoth Element," the half-elf explained. "Morgoth's power is distributed throughout the world, concentrated in certain substances, including gold. Our Rings are connected to this Element, and it appears that Morgoth was attempting to assail us through this. I don't know why, but I _do_ know he won't be beaten back again with any great ease. He will try to attack us again, you can be sure."

"And how are we supposed to resist him a second time if he does come back?" demanded Maglor. "It was all well and good that we were together now, but it isn't like we all don't have homes to return to."

"We'll manage," Elrond I reassured him. "As long as we keep concentrating upon ridding ourselves of this evil, we can hold him at bay."

But something else soon began gnawing at his mind. Almost wincing in physical pain, he turned his gaze to his godson and spoke in a mental whisper: _I need to speak with you alone, as soon as possible. This means more than I first thought, and nothing about it is good._

----

'As soon as possible' turned out to be no more than five minutes after the attack upon the Ring-keepers. Elrond II hurried into his godfather's bedchamber, where Elrond I shut and locked the door behind him as he entered. The elder elf's face was pale and frightened.

"What's wrong?" Elrond II asked, alarmed.

"Everything," his other half answered tremulously, sinking down onto his bed. "The one thing I've been dreading since the beginning is happening right now. It's already started."

"What is it?"

Elrond I beckoned himself closer, and Elrond II perched uneasily beside his elder half on the bed. The older of the two recollected memories that were Ages old, relating them in a halting voice.

"The day after you were born, I had a conversation with Lord Mandos about you and I. He told me that if we ever strayed more than five miles apart from each other, something disastrous would happen."

"But we're not five miles apart, we're five _inches_ apart! Why are you worried?" Elrond II cried.

"_Because,_" Elrond I whispered urgently, "that notion is being put into play as we speak. I knew something was wrong far before today, but only now have I figured it out. It started years ago. We're the same person, but we have slightly different personalities, and we're changing all the time. We haven't recently had to put much effort into convincing others that we're different people, because… we're actually _becoming_ different people. Our soul is splitting in half. We're growing apart. Morgoth is winning – this is what he wanted all along."

Elrond II's eyes were wide and horrified. "What does that mean? What should we do?"

"I don't know, Elrond," his godfather moaned dejectedly. "This is beyond me. The least I can suggest is that we stay as close as we can to each other, at all times. But I think others will have to take care of this for us. Take Lady Vairë, for instance – her tapestries are all that's holding us together. I think from now on, it all comes down to her. Our life is in her hands… most literally."

----

The next few days crawled past with all the haste of lame turtles, which did nothing more than heighten Elrond's anxiety. Celeborn and Galadriel prepared to depart Rivendell with their daughter, and Maglor reluctantly agreed with them. He rode out westward, while the others left on a more southerly path.

Elrond II sighed to himself as he watched them go. His heart was writhing in a personal, bittersweet fight, in which the sweetness eventually emerged victorious. The half-elf had kept the few, fine strands of hair that were Celebrían's gift; they were currently twined in with the raven tresses of his own hair. Silver flashed brightly against ebony whenever he moved his head.

Elrond I came quietly up behind his godson, laying a hand on his shoulder, and smiling as the younger elf turned to face him.

"You'll see her again," Elrond I assured himself. "It's not as though she'll have forgotten all about you by tomorrow."

"That's not all I'm worried about," Elrond II muttered. "I'm worried about what you said, about us becoming two different elves. What if Morgoth _does_ succeed? What will happen then? What if Lady Vairë can't help us?"

"Then we will fade from the very design of the world," Elrond I replied softly. "It will be like we never existed. Life will just go on without us. Things will change, perhaps for the worse. I don't know."

"But where will we _go?_" Elrond II wondered out loud. "Where will our spirit flee? To the Halls of Mandos, or somewhere else? Or will we just dissipate into nothing at all?"

"You're asking the wrong person," his godfather lamented. "And think about this: do you really wish to know the answers to your questions? What good would they do you in the long run? Would it matter, really, in the end? Would it affect anyone else?"

But he halted when he realized what he was saying. It _would_ matter; it _would _affect many others. If Elrond II didn't live to marry Celebrían, he would never be the father of the one woman who would be like Lúthien Tinúviel reincarnated; that woman would never marry an exiled King, and a bereft kingdom would never be restored to glory.

Or _would_ it?

Elrond I's mind reeled with memories of things that had occurred and were yet to happen, and some that had not occurred at all. In his previous life, Elrond's only daughter, Arwen, had wed Aragorn Elessar, the ranger-turned-King of Gondor. But there had been another woman who had had her heart set on marrying Aragorn: Éowyn the Shieldmaiden, niece of King Théoden of Rohan. Perhaps she would be the new Queen of Gondor. It was quite a plausible notion.

"Maybe we should forget about this for now," Elrond II interrupted his thoughts. "There is obviously little we can do for ourselves at the moment."

Elrond I nodded. "You're absolutely right. We can't do anything for ourselves, but I hope someone else has all of this under control."

----

The days turned to weeks, and weeks became months and years. Life went on relatively normally, with Elrond II courting Celebrían and overseeing his haven, and both halves of the elf resuming their sessions with Aulë and Oromë (these had been delayed temporarily because of the arrival of Galadriel and her kindred).

Elrond II and the Huntsman stepped up their training slightly, progressing to using their own spears, and Elrond I startled both himself and the Smith one evening by setting fire to a quite thick oak bough almost the moment he touched it. Aulë graciously lent the half-elf a pair of thick gloves similar in make to his own, but slightly smaller. He also advised Elrond I not to wear white during these lessons anymore. The elf agreed, laughing.

But Elrond I had something else on his mind. He had been thinking about the future he might or might not have (for the sake of his worries, he hoped that he would), and a great many things were irking him.

"Lord Mandos," he said as he warily approached the Doomsman one cool spring night, "I have been wondering about something for quite a while – a lot of things, in fact. The first one is my future son-in-law. Naturally you'll know all about how he met my daughter in my previous life, but how is that going to happen this time?

"There are no more orcs that could possibly kill Aragorn's father and cause his mother to bring him to Imladris, where I would adopt him as my own son – which is actually quite bizarre, now that I come to think of it, the notion of turning my daughter's future husband into her brother. Will the line of Kings even be broken at all? What about Narsil?"

The legendary Sword-that-was-Broken now resided in Rivendell, its shards laid carefully in a well-guarded glass case. Elrond I had often stood and gazed at it for hours at a time, wondering what the future of the Third Age of Middle-earth might hold. Who would be the blade's next wielder? Or would it even have one?

But Mandos' answering voice cleft his ruminations neatly in two.

"I am afraid I cannot reveal any large amount of information to you. All I am permitted to tell you is that while numerous aspects of your life will be a great deal more arduous and complex than they once were, a few will be extremely simple, and most beneficial to you. Your contemplations about the absence of orcs and Uruk-hai shall prove to be a weighty exception, however."

"What do you mean, sire?" Elrond I frowned, nonplussed.

The Vala's deep sapphire eyes were penitent. "I can say no more."


	59. The Worth of a Bride

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Worth of a Bride**

"There's something else, my lord," Elrond I said hastily. "The five Wizards who came to Arda in my previous life – will they have to come this time, now that Sauron is defeated? To oppose him was their duty, wasn't it?"

Mandos nodded. "It was; you are correct. But there is no longer need for them to be here, now that my kin and I are. It would be of no profit to summon them here unnecessarily."

"Oh." Elrond I was only slightly disappointed; he had hoped to meet his old comrade, the Wizard called Gandalf. But if there was no need for his presence, then there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, he now had many more friends than he had in his past life, (not to mention more siblings). But it was all for the best, he supposed. "Well then, thank you, my lord."

"You are most welcome," the Doomsman smiled.

----

"Elrond, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Elrond I glanced up from the journal he was writing in, nodding to his godson as he rose from his seat behind his desk, to greet him in common elven custom. "Of course. Is there any particular thing you want to discuss?" Elrond II had sounded far too edgy to be after mere pleasantry.

"One in particular," the young elf replied, lowering his voice, stepping forth and leaning in closer to his other half. "Have you noticed an elf named Halanor acting rather strange lately?"

"Halanor…" Elrond I murmured, mulling over the name as his brow creased. "Would he have black hair and grey eyes, and a rather nasty scar across the left side of his chin?"

Elrond II nodded once in the affirmative. "That's him."

The elder elf nodded as well. "Then, yes, I have in fact noticed his behavior. He has been more and more surly and secretive ever since Celebrían last visited here, which was quite a long time ago. I wonder what has been bothering him?"

"I'm not sure," said Elrond II, "but I'm getting suspicious… and worried. Something tells me we should keep a much closer eye on Halanor, starting right now."

----

Elrond II's idea was put almost immediately into action. The half-elf was able to use his two bodies quite beneficially; by being able to be in two places at once, he could secretly track Halanor twice as capably as any other elf. As well as that, he had very respectfully asked a few of the Valar to assist him. They could move around invisibly, thus increasing the factor of stealth.

Whenever Elrond II departed for Lothlórien (followed secretly by Elrond I and Lórien), the Valar would give detailed reports on Halanor's behavior. It appeared that the surly elf became increasingly moody in the elf-lord's absence, principally when he knew Elrond's destination and purpose. And whenever Celebrían herself came to Rivendell, Elrond saw for himself that Halanor would go out of his way to get close to her time and again.

But eventually Elrond I and II were forced to relax their continuous spying upon the elf. They both had other things to do than follow a single elf around Rivendell: their sessions with Aulë and Oromë, for instance. Those were becoming quite redundant on the part of Elrond I, who was now remarkably skilled in manipulating Narya's power. Elrond II, on the other hand, was dutifully devoted to his own lessons, much to Oromë's approval.

"Someday, Elrond," the Huntsman informed him confidently, "you will ascertain a much greater opponent, and you shall deal him blows that he will not forget for as long as he is allowed to exist. I do not know the day or year, but I do know this much: when at last you see your opponent face-to-face, you shall help greatly to absolve the pathway for the one who will utterly destroy him, once and for all."

Elrond II raised an eyebrow slightly, wondering just how Oromë had come to know all of this. The Vala merely gave him an erudite smile and glanced casually over his shoulder to where the Doomsman stood, smiling in total satisfaction.

----

Elrond II hummed absently to himself as he stuck his head ever deeper into his wardrobe, relying on his keen eyesight to pierce the gloom. Where was the robe he was looking for? He hadn't worn it for awhile, and it needed a good airing-out… Ah, there it was. He took the garment down from its peg, frowning in distaste at its current, rather musty condition. The half-elf turned to his bedroom window, meaning to open it, but whirled back around at the sound of a muffled _thump_ and a distant cry of "Ow!"

"Elrond?" Elrond II called out, as he hurried out of his room and toward the source of the noise. "Are you all right?"

Rushing into his godfather's bedroom, the young elf found his older self gingerly rubbing the top of his head with his right hand, and staring down at a large black box in his left. It took him a few moments to notice Elrond II; he smiled amiably when he did.

"Good morning," he said cheerily. "If you're wondering what all the noise was, I was just starting up some spring cleaning, and this fell out of my wardrobe and hit my head on the way down." He nodded to the box as he held it out his godson.

Elrond II came forward in interest, taking the container and inquiring, "What is this?"

"I'm not quite sure," Elrond I answered, running a forefinger over its dusty surface. "It is distantly familiar, but I suppose we can't be entirely certain until we open it." He glanced over at his godson. "Shall we?"

He pried away the lid, and gasped as a sudden burst of bright light dazzled him. Shielding his eyes, he smiled quietly as a myriad of recollections returned. He hadn't looked at the Silmarils in centuries; he had all but forgotten about them. Back when he had taken time to regard them, he had wondered what on earth he was going to do with them. And now, as memories of the distant and not-so-distant past washed softly through his mind, a plan quickly congealed.

"Uh-oh," murmured Elrond II, frowning up at his godfather. "You're wearing that 'I have an ingenious plot in my head, and Elrond the Second is an entirely fundamental part of it' look of yours." His eyebrows quirked a little as he demanded, "What is it this time?"

"Just a little idea," the elder elf smiled disarmingly, picking up one of the glowing jewels and weighing it in his hand. "It's been a hundred and nine years since you met Celebrían, and according to whatever small details I can remember about my past life, that was more or less around the time I was married to her."

His godson's face lit up in pure elation. "You're not _serious_ – are you?"

Elrond I grinned. "I'm serious. What you should do is arrange a visit to Lothlórien just as soon as possible, and take _this_ along with you." He pressed the Silmaril into his younger half's right hand. "Talk to Celeborn and Galadriel, and give it to them when you ask their consent to propose to Celebrían. I'm sure a Silmaril will be sufficient for her bride-price."

Then his smile abruptly faded as he realized something vitally essential. "You're going to need an engagement ring if you want to propose."

"Well, you've been working with Lord Aulë for awhile now," Elrond II reminded him. "I have a scheme of my own: why don't you ask him politely to make an engagement ring as a favor for me? You could exercise your power, and at the same time help him to help me. It will be a compromise, of sorts."

The elder elf nodded his approval. "I like it. But… oh, dear," he murmured, the pleasure sliding from his face again, like water from a duck's back feathers. "Oh, _dear._"

"What?" Elrond II asked, confusion rising to his features.

Elrond I turned his trepidation-ridden face slowly toward his godson, saying, "Celebrían. She has to know about us one way or another; both of her parents already do. If you truly want to marry her, you can't possibly keep something as important as this a secret. But… I'm not at all certain whether it would be better to tell her that before or after you actually propose."

"Maybe it would be better to tell her before," said the younger elf. "That way, if she _does_ accept the idea of marriage, she will have made the choice to accept us as we are."

"Or maybe it won't matter to her in the slightest, and she'll want to marry you regardless of how many bodies you're in," Elrond I suggested hopefully.

"We can dream," his godson nodded.

----

_I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can**not** believe I'm doing this. I'm finally doing this!_

Elrond II could feel his heart fluttering in his ribcage as he strode on with determination through the trees of the Golden Wood. He had seen Celeborn and Galadriel pass this way just after the evening meal, so they couldn't be too far away. Lothlórien wasn't a very big place; at least, not in comparison to other nearby realms like Greenwood.

The elf put his hands into his pockets one at a time; he felt the small, smooth cube of the box that held a beautiful engagement ring (a large, multifaceted diamond set in an ornate, sterling silver band) in his left hand, and in his right, the nearly-round bundle of soft, dark velvet that enclosed the bride-price he hoped to pay.

"Are you looking for someone?"

The half-elf spun round in mid-step, turning on his heel to face Haldir. The Marchwarden wore an amused smile on his lips, and a light of laughter danced in his pale blue eyes.

"Yes, actually," Elrond II replied, with a respectful inclination of his head. "I'm looking for Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel; I'm sure I saw them pass this way not long ago."

"So did I," Haldir smiled. "I was meaning to speak with them myself. So, which of us do you think should be first to address them?"

"It would be no of bother to me if you spoke first," said Elrond graciously. "After all, you know them far better than I do."

The Marchwarden shrugged carelessly. "If you insist."

After no more than a few minutes, the two companions perceived the voices of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. The musical tones seemed to be coming from somewhere to their right; Elrond II and Haldir made their way to them. The half-elf silently steeled himself for the task that lay ahead. There was no turning back now.

Celeborn and Galadriel were so deep in conversation, it took a few moments before they detected and acknowledged the presence of the two guests. When they finally did, it was with bright, courteous smiles and "Good evenings".

"My Lord and Lady," said Haldir, stepping forth with a bow, "I wish to speak with you."

To Elrond II, the other elf's discussion seemed to drag on for hours. Both of his legs had a most uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation shooting through them, and his stomach was on edge with nervous "butterflies" by the time he was summoned to speak his piece. As Haldir passed him in departure, the half-elf stepped forward, then bowed and began to speak.

"As you both have quite likely determined by this time, I have developed a very profound affection for Celebrían," he began, his voice empty of all indecision. "I'm here to request your permission to propose marriage to her."

Celeborn and Galadriel were both beaming even before he had finished. Celeborn spoke for them both: "Then by all means, take both our permission and our blessings!"

Elrond II's face flushed with joy. "A thousand thanks to you both! I have something here that I hope will do for her bride-price as well." He lifted the velvet bundle from his right-hand pocket as he spoke.

Galadriel accepted the package slowly, her eyes alight with intrigue. Celeborn and Elrond both observed her closely as she pulled at the folds of cloth, and gasped as the contents of the bundle were revealed. The Silmaril lay nestled in her palm, pouring out its radiance as eagerly as if it were participating in a contest to rival the Sun.

Both the Lord and Lady were struck speechless, gaping with slightly open mouths at the spectacle. Elrond II wore a small smile.

At some great length Galadriel composed herself and managed to say, "May I inquire as to how you came by this?"

"An old friend gave it to me many years ago," the half-elf answered cryptically.

The Lady nodded, her still-wide eyes reflecting the jewel's brilliant light. After sharing a fleeting look with her husband, she concluded, "Very well… we accept."

"Thank you a thousand times again," Elrond II replied gratefully, as Galadriel tucked the Silmaril back in its wrappings. "Now, if I knew where Celebrían was, I could tell her…"

"Tell me what?" asked a cheerful voice behind him.

The dark-haired elf turned, blissfully meeting the eyes of his beloved. But a thought came to him in a whisper: he couldn't propose to her right away. There was still another matter to clear up first.

"Could I speak with you alone for awhile?" he asked.

----

"That's… amazing," Celebrían murmured half to herself, shaking her head. That was all that she had said for the past five minutes. "If I didn't trust you so much, I don't think I'd believe a word of it. You're one person, in two bodies… amazing."

Elrond II nodded. "It was that much of a shock to me when I first found out. I was sixteen at the time." He laughed. "Naturally, from then on I started to feel quite old, quite fast."

Celebrían smiled. "What is it like, being in two bodies? Do you ever wish you were just like everyone else?"

"Sometimes," the half-elf replied, averting his gaze for a moment before gazing deep into her eyes. "And now, Celebrían, I have something else to tell you; it's almost as important as what you've just heard."

He reached down into his left-hand pocket, closing his fingers around the small box. He drew his hand up even while he dropped to one knee in front of Celebrían.

"I can't hope to express this in nothing but words," he said quietly, fixing his gaze on her face, "so I ask you to bear with me for just a moment. Ever since the day I first saw you, I could feel something drawing me toward you. The second time we met, when I looked at you, it was like the rest of the world dropped away, leaving just us. That's how it's been for me, for the past hundred and nine years.

"As time has gone by, I've come to realize that some force greater than the both of us has brought us together. That same force has been guiding me on through this double life I'm leading right now with my godfather. It's not my godfather, and it's not even the Valar. It is the One whom the Valar are taking their orders from. It's Eru Himself.

"But I don't want you to feel that this is all a part of some phenomenal Plan. We can still somehow make choices of our own. We can't choose our destinations, but we can choose at least some parts of our paths. I know where this part of my path leads, and I'm making this choice right now."

He opened the box, revealing the ring that Aulë had wrought just for him, and whispered, "Celebrían, will you marry me?"

Celebrían smiled, grasping his hand and pulling him upright. As she took his face gently in her hands, only one word escaped her. It was the only one they needed.

"_Yes._"


	60. Matrimonial Mayhem

**Chapter Fifty-Nine: Matrimonial Mayhem**

She kissed him, softly and tenderly, on the lips. He accepted the gesture, his love kindling to bright flames of passion. They wrapped each other up in a loving embrace, and Elrond quietly slipped the ring onto his beloved one's finger. He thrilled at the taste of her kiss; it was reminiscent of honey, and a sweet-tasting healing herb known as athelas.

When at last they pulled apart from each other, Celebrían's eyes were dancing with light-hearted mischief. She twirled nimbly away from him, laughing, "Catch me if you can!"

Elrond II grinned. This was exactly like the first evening of their courtship had been; their old game was on again. He leapt after her, and together they danced beneath the moon's light. Eärendil, sailing across the heavens high above, seemed almost to smile down upon them as his light blazed forth all the brighter for this happy occasion.

When the two lovers finally returned to where Galadriel and Celeborn still awaited them, both of their faces were flushed in euphoria. The diamond ring gleamed upon Celebrían's left hand as she held it forth to show to her parents.

Galadriel smiled wryly as she sent out a thought to Elrond II: _Did another 'old friend' of yours craft that ring for you?_

_Yes, and he was aided greatly by my godfather,_ the half-elf answered in the same way. _It was really a team effort._

The Lady nodded without a word, and Celeborn spoke up. "Now that that's settled, we all have quite a number of choices to decide on; a date for the wedding, first of all, as well as where it will take place."

"What better place for the ceremony than here in Lothlórien?" Elrond II laughed. "And as for a date, what do you think, Celebrían?"

"Whatever works for you," the maiden replied graciously. "It really doesn't matter to me, as long as you're happy."

"Just my thoughts," Elrond smiled. "But since you said it first… how does Midsummer's Day sound? It's only the seventh of March today, so we'll have plenty of time to prepare everything."

Celebrían nodded. "That would be perfect."

----

"There's so much to decide!" Elrond II nearly wailed, throwing up his hands as he paced anxiously round and round his bedroom in Imladris. "We need bridesmaids, groomsmen, a ring-bearer, a flower girl, a maid of honor… and how in _all_ of Eä am I supposed to pick a best man?" He glared across the room at his elder self. "You never said marriage would be so _complicated!_"

Elrond I shrugged absently from his place by the door. "Well, my wedding wasn't nearly so frustrating. I didn't have nearly as many friends then as we do now, so the decision of a best man was much easier. And don't choose _me,_" he added hurriedly, when his godson shot him a rather pleading look. "It wouldn't be fair. But I think I might have a solution to at least one of your other problems," he remarked, as he turned his head slowly toward a tall, golden-haired, pale rose-clad figure who had just glided gracefully past the window on the opposite wall.

"What is it?" Elrond II asked, eager for anything that might relieve his workload, even in the slightest.

His godfather beamed as he answered, "Who would be a better candidate for a flower girl than Lady Vána? I'm sure she'd agree if you asked her respectfully; after all, flowers are what she loves best."

"Good idea," Elrond II nodded, smiling. "Where is she?"

"Leaning on your window-sill," the Valië laughed. She nodded her head as Elrond turned and bowed to her. "I would be most honored to take part in your nuptial ceremony."

"Many thanks, my lady," Elrond II said gratefully. "I am honored that you would agree to be involved."

Vána smiled benignly. "The pleasure is truly all mine."

Elrond II laughed dryly to his other half. "Well, that's part of one problem taken care of, at least." He sniffed. "Now I only have several dozen left to tackle."

"Well, we'll just have to deal with them all one by one," said Elrond I cheerily. "Besides, Celebrían and her parents will also be handling a lot of this. You should probably write to her regularly about whatever decisions you make."

His godson nodded, a grin lighting his features. "I wonder how she'll react when I tell her that one of the Valier agreed to be a flower girl?"

"Probably very similarly to how she reacted when you told her that you knew all fourteen of the Valar as quite personal friends and kinfolk," Elrond I laughed. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we… yes, what is it, milady?" he said, turning to Vána a second time, as she cleared her throat with an obvious intent to speak.

"Is it not the custom for a so-called 'flower girl' to scatter flower petals before the bride and her groom?" the Valië inquired, a slight frown upon her lovely face. "Must it result in destruction?"

"Well, we don't essentially _have_ to keep every single one of the old traditions," Elrond II reassured her. "You could perhaps will a border of flowers to sprout on either side of the pathway where Celebrían and I will walk. It's the sort of thing you do, isn't it?"

Vána warmed up to the scheme right away. "That is true. What variety of flowers did you have in mind, if any at all?"

The younger half-elf thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about white roses?"

"With pleasure."

----

Elrond II smiled to himself as he added the finishing touches to the long list he had been working on for the past ten minutes. Now at last everything was in order, he noticed with great satisfaction. The list was a collection of wedding-preparation suggestions that had been made by both the half-elf himself and his wife-to-be; it was written just who would play each role in the marriage ceremony.

Elrond II had eventually decided to ask Maglor to be his best man (or elf, as it were), and Elrond I had consented to be the ring-bearer (the rings had, again, been made particularly for the event by Aulë). Galadriel and Celeborn would handle such necessities as food and accommodation for guests.

Now there was only the topic of what Elrond II would wear on the big day. That day was fast approaching – he had less than three weeks now: one to finish up any eleventh-hour preparations, and another two at most to get to Lothlórien.

The half-elf stood up from his desk and approached his wardrobe, pulling the door slowly open and gazing hopelessly at the selection of clothes that he had to choose from. He was decidedly going to wear a robe, so that narrowed his choice down by a half, but there was still quite an assortment to spare. He took each of the garments down from their pegs as he considered them; he couldn't decide whether he preferred the sapphire blue robe with silver embroidery, or the maroon one with copper-colored trim; on the other hand, maybe the violet one would become him better…

"I would wear the _blue_ robe, if the choice were mine to make."

Elrond II jumped and spun around, bowing reverently to Mandos, who inclined his head civilly back. The elf smiled as he spoke to his kinsman: "Was that just a personal opinion, sire, or will it affect my whole future in some terrible and cataclysmic way?"

"I merely thought that it would be of benefit to know that Celebrían will be wearing blue, white and silver to your conjugal ceremony," answered the Doomsman calmly. "It would be suitable for you both if the two of you were dressed in attire of corresponding colors."

Elrond II nodded, hanging the articles back up and draping the chosen one across his left arm. "The blue robe it is, then. Would you please, erm… that is to say, might I have some privacy for a few moments while I try it on?"

Mandos nodded, vanishing softly to leave his friend in peace. Elrond changed his clothes quickly, seeing with satisfaction that the robe still fit him well. He had no sooner finished than a knock sounded on the door, and he heard his mother's voice from outside. "Elrond, may I come in?"

"Be my guest," Elrond II answered graciously. "I was just trying on the robe that I plan to wear for the ceremony."

Elwing glowed with pride as she gave her son a once-over and a tight but tender embrace. "Oh, _Elrond,_ look at you! You look perfect! Absolutely perfect!"

Elrond II's face flushed a very vivid scarlet color, but gladly accepted the gesture. "I love you, too."

Elwing nodded, stepping back from him after a moment. She looked him over again and laughed, "Maybe I should let you put your old clothes back on. You don't want anything to happen to that robe before the Day." The capital D was audible in her voice.

The half-elf agreed. "Good idea. I should probably finish packing my things as well."

He had just changed back into his tunic and breeches when the Doomsman returned. The Vala's timing was so faultless that the elf at first flinched at his arrival, but soon grinned good-naturedly.

"There is _**no** way_ you couldn't have been watching me."

Mandos merely smiled. "I was by no means spying on you. But, after dwelling in Vairë's companionship for countless thousands of years, one might expect that my sense of time would be nothing less than impeccable."

"That's true," Elrond II nodded. But just as soon, a crucial thought occurred to him. "We need someone to carry out the wedding rites. Galadriel and Celeborn will each have their own different roles to play, so it can't be them."

Mandos nodded. "I knew of that long ago. I have asked Manwë to be your minister, and he has readily consented. But no-one else must know – not even your bride."

----

The atmosphere in Lothlórien was thick with anticipation. Elves had gathered together in the Golden Wood from other realms all across Middle-earth: Rivendell, Greenwood, and Mithlond for the special event – the much-spoken-about marriage of Elrond II of Imladris and Celebrían of Lothlórien. Both halves of the couple-to-be mingled cheerfully with the present company; they were clad in everyday clothing, as the ritual would not take place for a few hours yet. It was still before noon on Midsummer morning.

Elrond II beamed as he caught sight of a long-expected face in the crowd. He called to his best man (best _elf_, rather) as the lord of Mithlond advanced through the sea of reuniting kinsfolk. "Maglor, good to see you!"

"Better to see _you,_ Elrond the Second!" Maglor hollered happily back. "When did you get here?"

"Me? Two nights ago! What about you? If I didn't know better, I'd say you rode through the night just to arrive in good time! No, make that _four_ nights!"

The two friends embraced tightly as they met. Maglor really did look as if he hadn't got a fair night's sleep in quite a while; his eyes had large dark circles under them, and the rest of his face was rather colorless, but he was as lively as ever. It seemed that the dominant positive mood of the wood was extremely contagious.

"I can't tell you how honored I am," said the lord of Mithlond, his sallow face flushing in pure elation. "_Me,_ the best man at your wedding… me, of all people! I thought you would surely choose your godfather!"

"He didn't even give me a proper opportunity to ask him," Elrond II laughed. "I had only just opened my mouth, and he said, 'No, don't pick me, it wouldn't be fair'. I suppose he was right. After all, he _is_ my godfather. It would be rather like favoritism, wouldn't it?"

Maglor nodded. "Have you seen Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn?"

"They passed this way a little while before I saw you," the half-elf replied. "I'm not fully sure where they went after that, but I know that they headed in that direction." He pointed eastward over the chattering elves' heads.

"Thank you," the other elf smiled. "Just in case I don't see you until the ceremony, good luck!"

----

By noontime nearly all of the elves were gathered on the lawn of Caras Galadhon for the event of the season. All but those few who would enter separately stood in a group below the tallest _mallorn_ tree in the forest, whispering among themselves as they eagerly waited for the beginning of the procession. They left a wide path clear for those who would enter there; Elrond II and Maglor were already standing before the others.

Elwing anxiously wrung her hands as she tried to calm herself. As mother of the groom, she was required to start off the ceremony as she headed to her seat. At the moment, she was well hidden in the thicker trees. After what seemed hours, she heard a whisper in her mind that her entry-time was now.

She emerged from the trees and strode with dignity down the clear path, toward the front of the group. The murmuring of the elves died away as soon as she appeared. Next down the aisle came the bridesmaids and groomsmen, five of each (Elrond had rejected the idea of four each, for reasons best known to himself). They stood on either side of the groom, leaving a gap ready for the bride.

Then Vána made her entrance; as promised to the groom, two rows of ivory roses sprang up on the borders of the aisle, budding and blooming in only moments as the Valië willed them to. Elrond I came slightly behind her, carrying the rings he and Aulë had made long before. After them strode the maid of honor that the bride and groom had chosen.

The notes of a wedding march filled the still air as Celebrían appeared, walking between her parents, toward her future husband. Clothed in a gown of white, silver and blue silk studded with tiny pearls, with her face hidden by a gossamer veil, she had an ambiance of mysterious beauty around her. Galadriel and Celeborn were little less regal, wearing only blue and silver, without white. They proceeded in silence, their heads held high.

By this time the watchers had noticed something was amiss. Who would perform the rites of the wedding? Everyone was in his or her place, yet there was still an unoccupied space in front of the bride and groom. Why in Arda was this so?

Their answer came mere moments later, when a wispy shape, like pale blue smoke, came into view between the couple and the audience. It took on a definite form as they watched with awe-filled eyes. A head, a torso, arms and legs appeared. The body was clothed in a robe the hue of the summer sky; his hair fell past his shoulders like a smooth rain of gold. His eyes sparkled kindly as he smiled upon them all and spoke.

"Children of Eru, dearly beloved, you are gathered here together to witness the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony…"


	61. Love and Lust

**A/N:** This chapter contains some mild mature content. Please be advised.

* * *

**Chapter Sixty: Love and Lust**

The speaker trailed off, smiling slightly. Everyone present – with the exception of Vána – was bowing down, as far as space and clothing would allow. No-one else noticed that the Valië was still on her feet, as they all had their faces downcast.

"Please," said the newcomer amiably, "arise, all of you. I am here today as your equal in the eyes of Eru."

There was a broad stretch of silence, as the assembly slowly climbed to its numerous feet, and then a small and timorous voice piped up from somewhere in the back of the crowd of viewers: "What name is yours, my Lord?"

The blue-clad stranger gave a good-natured laugh. "I am Manwë. I was asked to perform the rites of this marriage ceremony. May I proceed?" he asked, turning his head calmly to look at Celeborn.

Startled and cowed, the elf-lord managed to nod and to reply with a slight nervous stutter. "Y- yes, of course, sire."

Manwë nodded kindly. "Very well. We are gathered here together to witness the union of this man and this woman—" he gestured to the groom and bride, respectively "—in holy matrimony, which is deemed honorable among all races, and therefore it is not by any to be entered unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Elrond I and II listened especially hard into the ensuing quiet. The only sound was that of a slight breeze riffling tenderly through the leaves of the trees high above their heads. No-one spoke; Manwë nodded in approval, and his own voice rang out resonant and clear.

"Doubly blessed is the couple which comes to be wed with the approval and blessings of their families and friends," he beamed. "Who has the honor of presenting this woman to be married to this man?"

Celeborn and Galadriel spoke as one. "We do."

Manwë watched calmly as Celebrían moved to stand on the left side of Elrond II, and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien stepped back slightly. Then the Wind-lord spoke yet again, as he took Elrond II and Celebrían's hands into his own, and clasped them together.

"Hand in hand you enter marriage, hand in hand you step out in faith. The hand that you freely give each other, is both the strongest and the most tender part of your body. In the years ahead you will need both strength and tenderness. Be firm in your commitment. Do not let your grasp weaken. And yet be flexible as you go through change. Do not let your hold grow to be intolerable. Strength and tenderness, firm commitment and flexibility, of such is a marriage made, hand in hand.

"Also remember that you do not tread this road alone. Do not fear to reach out to others when together you face difficulty. Other hands are there: those of friends and family. To accept an outreached hand is not admission of failure, but an act of faith. For behind us, beneath us and around us all are the outstretched arms of Eru. It is into His hand, the hand of Ilúvatar that, above all else, we commit this union of husband and wife."

Manwë addressed Elrond II alone, his tone clear and formal. "Do you, Elrond the Second, take Celebrían to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

"I do."

"Do you, Celebrían, take Elrond the Second to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

"I do."

At a nod from the Vala, Elrond I stepped forward and held out the golden wedding rings; Manwë took them both and gave one to each member of the waiting couple, placing them in their upturned palms.

"As these rings are circles, without end," the Wind-lord proclaimed, "so will your love be eternal. Wear the rings as symbols of your pledge of devotion to each other."

Elrond II dutifully slid the ring he held onto Celebrían's left-hand ring finger; she did the same for him. Both elves' eyes glimmered with a strange light as this was done, and they both stared up at Manwë in expectation of his next announcement.

The Vala then waved his right hand, and three candles appeared out of thin air: two were lit, the third was not. He held the lit ones forth to Elrond and his bride, and kept the unlit one for himself, saying, "Let these flames represent your love. Light the third candle now together, and let the fires merge, as you will become forever one with each other."

They both complied in silence, holding the blazing wicks to the unscathed one and setting it alight. Their faces bathed in soft radiance, the bride and groom both gazed in ecstasy at each other and at Manwë as he declared finally, "Thus, by the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you to be husband and wife."

Elrond II gently lifted the veil from Celebrían's face, took his new wife into his arms and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss to seal the promise once and for all. Everyone else began to applaud them, and the two newlyweds walked back down the flower-edged aisle: their first steps together as a formally wedded couple. Elrond II, in those golden moments, felt as though he was the single happiest – and luckiest – elf in all of Arda.

There soon followed a wonderful banquet in honor of the occasion. Platters and goblets never emptied or ran dry. Song and laughter mingled with everyday banter as the elves – and two Valar – did full justice to the bounty. At some point Manwë stood up, lifted his chalice of wine and cried strongly, "Long lives and years of plenty to Elrond the Second and Celebrían!"

The toast was taken up eagerly by the throng, and a chorus of willing voices shouted back the blessings. All but one voice, that is…

A black-haired, grey-eyed elf of Rivendell, with a grisly scar on the left side his chin, had stayed stubbornly mute, and now gripped his wineglass so hard that it shattered in his white-knuckled fingers.

----

Much later that evening, beneath the ever-watchful, starry eyes of the night sky, Elrond I and II, Celebrían and Galadriel walked the half-lit paths through the trees of Lothlórien. Distant strains of song from those who were still celebrating grazed their ears, and many were the times that the wanderers found themselves humming along as they talked.

"I can't help but wonder how this is going to work out," Celebrían remarked with a light laugh. "I'm married to one half of an elf with two bodies, so theoretically I'm married to _both_ halves. But no-one else knows that Elrond is one person, so if they knew that theory, they'd call me a bigamist…"

"Then let's not give them any reason to find out," Elrond I advised.

Galadriel opened her mouth to speak, but without warning, she swayed slightly where she stood. Her right hand gripped Elrond I's wrist painfully tightly. He stared down at it, and then up at her, and put two and two together in an instant. Clasping her own hands in his, the elder half-elf looked briefly into Galadriel's eyes before closing his own. His thoughts became a steady chant, and his lips shaped the words silently, but did not give voice.

_Drive him back… Drive him back… Drive him back… _

He barely had to ask before the flames leapt to help him, roaring in rage that was directed against Morgoth alone. He could dimly discern Galadriel summoning aid in her own way, rising against the Dark Lord with the fury of a thousand tempestuous seas. Fire and water merged, but neither extinguished the other; the waters bubbled and hissed, foam turning into steam. Morgoth would be boiled alive even as he drowned.

Celebrían could do nothing but watch in horror as the two other elves, standing stone-still and silent, engaged in a soundless war inside themselves. If only she could do something to help them, somehow…

But she scarcely had a chance to draw breath before an icy hand clamped over her mouth, and another gripped her forcefully by the throat. Unconsciousness claimed conquest after a momentary, one-sided struggle. And the two Ring-keepers were completely unaware.

----

Elrond I and Galadriel sank to their knees, trembling as the aftershock of the fight washed over them both. Elrond II dutifully ministered to his elder half, giving out a careful dose of icy power to placate Elrond I's furious fever. Only when this was finished did they get the chance to observe their changed surroundings. Celebrían was nowhere to be found.

"Sh- she might have run off," Elrond I suggested, without much conviction. "She's never seen us fight Morgoth like that before."

"Celebrían?" Galadriel called out urgently. The echoes of her voice fell weird and hollow upon their ears.

Elrond II added his own voice. "Celebrían! Answer if you can hear me!"

His shout did nothing but rouse a nearby flock of sleeping sparrows, and the only answer he received was their unsettled twittering as they all took to the sky at once. The younger half-elf looked to his companions in despairing desperation.

_Where could she be?_

----

Celebrían moaned faintly as sensation seeped slowly back into her mind and spread to her limbs. Her fingers flexed and straightened out again, feebly gripping soft cloth. The same brushed up against her cheek as she tried to move her head. Her eyelids fluttered, and she gazed blearily at the figure who lay beside her.

He was naked, save for the coverlet that came up to his waist and exposed his bare torso. His grey eyes glinted in lustful malice, and a hideous scar on his chin contorted strangely as he smiled at her. It was the ugliest and most terrible smile she had ever seen. Then the nightmare became even more real when the person spoke, in a voice that would return in her darkest nightmares for years to come.

"Whom were you expecting?"

Celebrían's mind reeled as terror crackled through her like lightning. This elf was not her husband! "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I want _you, _Celebrían," the stranger whispered, moving closer to her and folding his arm about her body – thank the Valar, she was still fully clothed! "I've wanted you for _years,_ did you know that? Ever since before Elrond asked to court you. Yes, I was watching as he walked you through the garden that night."

"Who _are_ you?" Celebrían demanded again, shying back, but forcing her voice to steady.

The strange elf's horrific smile widened. "Call me Halanor."

----

Elrond II was at a complete loss. His wife was missing, and there was no way to find out where she had gone. She was just that – gone, without a trace.

"All right," he said at last, thinking aloud, "we need to look at this rationally. She might have left on her own accord, and on the other hand, someone might have called to her. On another hand, someone could have dragged her off against her will."

"But who in Arda would do something like that?" wondered Galadriel. "Does anyone we know have something against Celebrían?"

Elrond II looked to his godfather, and insight struck as rapidly as if a tree had fallen onto him. Someone didn't necessarily resent Celebrían, but there was someone besides Elrond II who had wanted to be near her, who had gone far out of his way to be beside her in the most undesirable ways…

Without any further speech, the young half-elf took off at a run toward Caras Galadhon, with the others hurrying in his wake. Elrond only prayed that they wouldn't be too late.

----

He was much too close to her. Celebrían tried to calm her breathing as that of the elf who was now nearly on top of her quickened. Maybe, she thought, she could impediment his twisted intentions by trying to reason with him.

"Halanor," she began, "if… if you've wanted to be with me so badly, why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I couldn't," Halanor replied, "because _he_ was always there where you were. Lord Elrond was always hanging off your arm, showering you with flowers and moonlight and stupid sweet nothings. You didn't really believe all of that, did you?"

"It wasn't _nothing_ – it was everything!" cried Celebrían. "Elrond loves me with his whole heart! Why else would he marry me?"

"Because you're so beautiful, of course," Halanor answered, breathing the words into her ear. "That's all he wanted, was to be close to your pretty face."

"That's all _you_ want," the inwardly-terrified bride protested, letting anger enter her voice as she scrambled to her feet. "Put your clothes back on and get away from me."

Halanor grabbed her arm, yanking her down to a stooping position. "But I love you."

"Someone who loved me would _never_ behave like you are!" Celebrían retorted, trying to wrest her wrist from his vicelike fingers. "Elrond would respect me and respect my body. You, on the other hand, have no love. Only lust."

Halanor gave another revolting smile, and with a great heave he forced her down on top of his naked form. Then he rolled over, pinning her forcefully to the mattress they lay on. "You're absolutely right, dearest. All I have is lust – and it needs a good slaking."

Celebrían's heart was pounding at triple speed. She couldn't move her arms; Halanor was holding them out from her sides. Her legs felt like lead. She could only watch as Halanor moved his horrible, leering face toward her, kissing her face, her neck and her chest, and tugging at the neckline of her dress with nothing but his teeth. All she could hear was his heavy, ragged breathing…

…and then a voice, so great and resonant that it nearly stopped her heart as she lay there.

"BEGONE, HALANOR!"

Halanor stiffened in horror, rolling off of Celebrían and onto his back. Forgetting his state of total undress, he could only gape at the figure who stood above him. Two dark eyes set in a pale face blazed crimson with rage, and two strong white hands gripped the elf by his quaking shoulders, hauled him upright and lifted him to the person's eye level. Halanor felt a warm wetness slide down his legs as he stared up into the incensed face of Mandos.

"Lust," hissed the Doomsman (his whisper was far worse than his shout), "is one of many sins. Rape is one of many crimes. Both, ultimately, can be lethal. For you, the sentence is doubled." He flung the unfortunate elf to the floor, andHalanor crouched there sobbing as the Doomsman roared, "Get up! I am the Judge. Your trial is _now._"

Halanor stood slowly, his legs barely able to support him. "I- I meant nothing, my Lord!"

The Vala did not speak, but moved purposely toward the naked elf. Halanor backed away in terror, not daring to look away.

He forgot that he had taken Celebrían up to his own platform in a _mallorn. _He didn't see the edge of it until too late… there was a gasp, a scream, and a sickening THUD from far, far below.

Mandos looked sympathetically at the shaking, sobbing form of Celebrían curled on the mattress, knelt by her side and spoke soothingly to her before he followed Halanor.

_Your husband is coming for you, Celebrían. Fear not… you will be fine._


	62. Readjustments

**Chapter Sixty-One: Readjustments**

Celebrían gazed silently after the Doomsman as he faded softly from sight. Her mind was numb with the shock of what had just happened. Halanor had betrayed her, and betrayed Elrond. She had almost been raped. And she knew as well as anyone that if a married elf was raped, then his or her spirit would feel so utterly violated that it would instantly flee from his or her body, leaving the unfortunate victim dead.

**_Dead._** The terrible word reverberated hollowly in Celebrían's mind. She could have died just then, she realized. If it hadn't been for Mandos' timely arrival, she would have been murdered on her wedding night… it would have been _she_ that the Doomsman took to his Halls, not Halanor.

Was that the reason he had chosen this night – her _wedding_ night – rather than any other? Had Halanor truly wanted to kill her? Celebrían shuddered inwardly – she wouldn't put it past him. But she whispered a hushed prayer of thanks to Eru for sending Mandos to save her life, as tears flooded soundlessly down her cheeks and her body was racked with fitful sobs.

How truly ironic it was, she thought (once the majority of her tears had finally subsided), that she owed her very life to the Lord of the Dead.

----

Elrond II panted hard for breath as he hurtled through the trees. He had heard the distant echoes of a terrible scream, and could only pray that it was not the voice of his beloved. With his godfather and mother-in-law at his heels, he burst out onto the moonlit lawns of Caras Galadhon, skidding to a halt at a sickening sight.

A horribly still silhouette lay crumpled beneath a _mallorn_ tree a good expanse from them. A crowd was beginning to amass there at a safe distance, and their clearly terrified voices made the half-elf's blood run like ice water in his veins.

"We were all too late. No-one could survive a fall from that height."

"Who is it?"

"I'm not sure…"

Elrond II hurried toward the group of elves, and met a quaking Celeborn, whose face was every bit as white as his nightshirt. The silver-haired lord could barely speak for fear, nor could he stand without difficulty. The young half-elf supported him as he sobbed onto his son-in-law's shoulder.

"No-one knows what happened… he fell almost a hundred feet…"

"_Who_ fell?" cried Elrond I urgently, coming up beside them. "Who was it?"

"H- he was one of your kindred," Celeborn gulped. "I never had the opportunity to learn his name, but I recognized him immediately by sight. His most striking feature by far was a disgusting scar on the left side of his chin."

Elrond II blanched in horror. His fears were true. "_Halanor._"

Elrond I brushed past them, anxiously threading his way through the crowd, who were all talking among themselves. Many were crying, and a few even seemed to have fallen into faints. It was a dreadful spectacle. Still he pressed on, until he broke through the mass of fearful observers and witnessed the terror first-hand.

The corpse was completely naked, its only covering being its own blood. Here and there, fractured bones protruded from the torn flesh, gleaming ghastly white in the moonlight. It was indeed Halanor that lay prostrate across the silvery roots of the _mallorn_, and he was indeed dead. No living person's neck could bend at such an angle.

Elrond I turned his head slowly as Galadriel approached him from behind, and he heard her horror-struck gasp. A strangled sob escaped her lips as she, too, beheld the grotesque display, and struggled to keep a hold on her consciousness. Her tense body relaxed only a small amount when her husband's hand found her shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly.

As they all gazed down at the bloody, broken thing formerly known as Halanor, a swirl of shadow just before it seized their attention. A tall figure clothed in long, darkly iridescent robes came into sight, a somewhat distant expression on his sallow face. His manner soon grew much more tender as he spoke telepathically to three elves in the front of the crowd.

_Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn, you will find Celebrían_ _on the dais above us. Be wary as you reach the top; there is a damp area there that you would do well to avoid stepping in._

The addressees bowed to Mandos in reverence and thanks before hurrying past him, over the decrepit carcass of Halanor, and swiftly up the high spiraling stairway to the platform far above.

----

Celebrían looked up sharply at the sound of frantic footsteps coming from below her. She quickly wiped her hand across her teary eyes and straightened her dress, which was rather off-kilter, just as four breathless figures burst onto the platform. She instantly recognized her parents, her husband, and Elrond II's elder self.

"Celebrían!" Elrond II sobbed, tears of joy and relief pouring down his face unchecked as he rushed to her side. "Thank the Valar you're alive!"

Celebrían wrapped her trembling arms fondly about him, murmuring in his ear, "It really _is_ thanks to the Valar I'm all right. At least, thanks to Lord Mandos. He arrived here just in time to keep Halanor from…" She trailed off and looked away as she withdrew a little from him, afraid to speak the truth, for fear that it become all the more real to her.

"What did Halanor do to you?" Celeborn inquired quietly, kneeling at his daughter's side and taking her hand gently in his own. "Please tell us."

Celebrían drew a deep, shuddering breath, and launched into the terrible account. She left out no detail of their actions and speech, and struggled on courageously as the memories painted ghastly pictures in her mind's eye. She was weeping candidly before she finished, and the others all soothed her tenderly with kind words and soft kisses.

"Well, it's all over now," said Galadriel in hushed tones, absently stroking her daughter's hair. "You're alive and safe, and Halanor is dead. We can forget that it ever happened."

"Is it really all that simple?" Celebrían whispered uncertainly, as tears began to spring up in her eyes yet again. "Can things like this ever fade away completely?"

"In time they may," Elrond I replied, smiling reassuringly as he wiped the moisture from her face with the cuff of his sleeve, "if you will let them. Time heals all wounds, after all, does it not?"

Elrond II glanced at his godfather, and they shared a long, deep look. _Time…_ that was the very essence of all that was holding them together. For years they had thrust the notion to the most neglected corner of their memory, hoping to move on in life as normally as they could possibly be. But now the thought that their existence depended on Vairë returned as clearly as ever. They forced it back again, concentrating on the matter at hand: Celebrían.

Celeborn coughed slightly, effectively breaking the awkward silence that had developed. "Perhaps it would be best if we all were to get a good night's rest. Eru knows some of us need it more than others," he added, glancing at his daughter, who was still rather ashen.

His companions all agreed readily, and they made their way back to their own platforms in other _mellyrn._ Some sleep would do them all a world of good.

----

Elrond II lay awake for a long time, gazing up at the canopy of silvery boughs and golden leaves that screened much of the night sky. The only sounds he could hear were those of his own breaths, and of his wife's. He glanced discreetly in her direction, starting slightly when she looked back at him; he thought she had fallen asleep long ago. Oh, well; all the better for him.

"Celebrían," the young half-elf murmured, propping himself up on one elbow, "I need to speak with you about what happened this evening."

Celebrían nodded, sitting up a little as well and meeting her husband's solemn blue eyes. "Go ahead."

Elrond II drew a slow, deep breath to steel himself before he spoke on.

"Celebrían, I am truly sorry that I couldn't reach you in time to stop Halanor. I know that as your husband, it is my duty to protect you however I can. But _you_ know your mother and I were attacked by Morgoth tonight. It was during that time, while we were fighting him, that Halanor took you. We didn't even know you were gone until afterward… and it was quite a long time afterward. We came as fast as we could, but by then…"

"…Lord Mandos had already come to help me." His wife softly completed the phrase for him as he trailed off. "Yes, Elrond. I understand, you were… fighting your own battle."

Elrond II nodded. "I want you to promise me something, all right? If anyone says or does something to you, or so much as _looks_ at you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable to any extent, I want you to tell me straight away. I love you far too much to let anything happen to you. From this hour forward, I am going to do anything and everything in my power to keep things like this from happening again."

Celebrían's eyes shimmered silver with tears in the starlight as she whispered, "I know… I promise."

"Thank you." Elrond II kissed his wife gently before lying down again. "Now, we should both get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, an opportunity for a fresh start. And that's exactly what we need right now." He smiled fondly over at her. "_Melin-le._" (I love you.)

"_Melin-le aw, muiner-nin,_" (I love you too, my dear one) Celebrían replied in a murmur, as she allowed her eyes to cloud over in deep sleep.

----

Morning arrived balmy and breezy, with the brightness of the sun and the general cheery atmosphere of the day effectively belying the tragic happenings of the previous night. But there was still one horrible reminder of that; Halanor's body had still to be cleaned up and buried.

Elrond II had passionately rejected the notion at first, remarking icily that his wife's near-slaughterer didn't deserve a proper funeral, but he had ultimately relented for the obvious reason of general sanitation. Halanor was put in the ground with scant ceremony and few goodbyes. No gravestone marked his resting place. No-one really wanted to remember a killer, even one whose intentions had failed.

Celebrían stayed at Elrond II's side as often as she could, straying from him only when it was absolutely necessary. She was much more introverted and timid than she had always been before. Elrond II, knowing his duty as her husband, supported her readily where she could not support herself. He was determined to help her until she regained her old power of will, her self-assurance and dignity, and he would **_not_** back down before that moment without good reason to. In time, the half-elf vowed, his wife would be strong again.

----

When the time came at last for the newlyweds to return to Imladris, they were given fond farewells by their kin from Lothlórien and Greenwood. Elrond, Celebrían, and what were now left of the elves who had come from Rivendell rode off amidst the echoes of eagerly-shouted blessings and wishes of fair fortune. All of the travelers accepted them gratefully – even Celebrían, in what was perhaps her first vibrant show of emotion in days.

Elrond II smiled both inside and out as he listened to his wife calling thanks to her friends and family. She was regaining happiness, at least. That was a start. But how long would it last before the darkness arose to haunt her? She had slept through the past few nights with no obvious ill effects on her mind (although she might have had Lórien's help with that; he wasn't sure), but Elrond knew it was only a matter of time.

Celebrían couldn't help but notice her husband smiling over at him every few seconds as they rode off from the home that she had known for centuries. What was happening in the mind behind those pale blue eyes of his? She had a suspicion it was something more than mere cheerfulness at the prospect of returning home. It was something about _her,_ she was certain. Now, if only she knew what it was…

----

The journey to Rivendell was lengthy in distance, but Time seemed to soar past them like an eagle on the wing. The summer sun liberally poured out her warmth and cheer, greatly lifting the spirits of those below. It seemed to be only a few days later when the company descended one of the steep sides of the valley, and crossed the threshold of the haven.

Whilst everyone was busy settling in, Celebrían approached Elrond II covertly. There had been something nagging at her mind for a little while now.

"Elrond," she said uneasily, "I've thought of something. I know as well as you do about who you and your godfather really are, and what with this new marriage I was wondering about… sleeping arrangements."

"Ah." The half-elf nodded slowly. "Well, it's really not _completely_ up to me to decide on that. Maybe I should call my godfather so we can discuss it further. But – _oh,_" he added a split-second later. "This could be quite a problem. Not everyone knows about Elrond the First and myself, you understand, and depending on what we decide, it might look more than a little out of the ordinary, if you catch my meaning…"

"That can be easily taken care of," Celebrían remarked, as an idea hit her. "We could try something like _this…_"

----

Elrond I lay awake in bed for several hushed minutes, until he was confident that no-one was stirring outside. Assured, he rose softly and straightened the blankets on his bed, then stepped into his slippers and crept down the silent, moonlit halls on cat-feet. He passed several closed doors to his left and right, and finally noted one that had been left slightly ajar. Even so, he knocked warily on the doorframe.

"Come in," whispered a voice that was identical to his own.

The elder half-elf complied, edging into the room and smiling at the two figures sitting up in the bed. Two pairs of blue eyes gleamed at him in the moon's glow. His godson called him over with a slightly crooked forefinger, and Celebrían allured him with a sly smile.

Elrond I obediently climbed onto the mattress on Celebrían's other side, moving closer to her as she shifted to give him room. They lay for a moment in awkward silence, and then Elrond II sniggered softly.

"If this is how things are going to be every night, we'll need a bigger bed in here."

"This is just an experiment, you must understand," Celebrían reminded him. "We'll make readjustments as we need to."

There was a long pause, and then a mutter from Elrond I.

"My arm is falling asleep."

"Move it, then," replied Celebrían. "Readjustments, you know."

"I'm halfway off the bed as it is!"

"All right, _I'll_ move."

"Now you're lying on _my_ arm, dearest," Elrond II yawned.

"I'm sorry, love. Is that better?"

"Much better, thank you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Elrond."

"Goodnight, me."


	63. Promises and Parenthood

**Chapter Sixty-Two: Promises and Parenthood**

Celebrían simply couldn't fall asleep, try as she might. She tossed and turned, and pulled the blankets onto and off of her body, but slumber evaded her, just like a sparrow fleeing the talons of a hawk. Her mind was churning with questions, so many questions, and not an answer to be found…

"Elrond?" she whispered uncertainly into the darkness, keeping her eyes upon the ceiling.

"Yes?" Two identical voices rose up in answer. It seemed that neither her husband nor his godfather could get to sleep, either. A pair of pale blue eyes glinted on either side of her, and the elder half spoke up. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Celebrían paused for a moment before she went on. "Would it be at all possible for me to meet Lord Mandos again? I'd really like to thank him for saving my life."

"You are most welcome," replied a familiar deep voice, as a dark figure arrived in a whirl of shadows. Mandos appeared at the foot of the bed, with a tranquil smile on his thin lips. He nodded respectfully back as the elves in the bed sat up and bowed to him in reverence.

Celebrían's voice was hushed and humble as she spoke to the Doomsman. "My lord, I am eternally in your debt. I don't really know how to properly express my gratitude for what you did for me on my wedding night. How can I ever repay you, sire?"

"There is no need for you to repay me," Mandos told her calmly. "But your thankfulness is not unaccepted, nor is it unappreciated. You may do a simple favor for me, however."

Celebrían nodded, her awe clearly showing in her eyes. "Very well. What is your wish?"

The Doomsman's eyes sparkled benevolently as he responded, "Do your best to forget all about that night. Nothing good will come of such memories if you continue to dwell upon them."

The silver-haired woman nodded in unquestioning acceptance. "Of course, my lord."

With another smile and a nod of thanks, Mandos vanished into the dim night. Just a few moments after he left, Celebrían turned to Elrond with another thought that was niggling at her.

"How is all of this going to work out, with the two of us?" she asked. "I'm sure we can't sleep like this every single night, and according to what Elrond the First has told me, I've already technically spent two and a half thousand years with him in his past life."

"You're absolutely right," murmured Elrond I, sitting up in bed. "Maybe this wasn't the best plan after all… no offense, Celebrían… I should probably just leave. Readjustments, you know…" He made as if to stand up, his left foot in its slipper, and his right foot half-in, half-out of its own.

"You don't _have_ to leave," said Elrond II, sitting up as well. "Could you stay for the rest of the night, maybe?"

Elrond I let out his breath in a sigh and shook his head, replying, "No, thank you. In these past Ages, I've gotten rather used to sleeping alone." He rose and strode toward the door, calling back to them over his shoulder, "I'll see you both at breakfast. Goodnight."

----

All through the next day Celebrían's mind buzzed with Mandos' words to her. She tried her best to obey him, but horrifying images of the last thing she wanted to remember kept lunging into her mind. Strange, she thought – they hadn't come for the first few days after the incident, which was when they really should have been the most potent. But now, of all times… _why? _

She couldn't possibly come up with an answer herself, so she turned to the one who had vowed to support her for better or for worse. Elrond II did his utmost to comfort her when she needed it, to encourage her to laugh, to let her weep on his shoulder. He was always right there when she needed him the most.

She had other sources of aid as well. The Valar, too, would often come to her with words of consolation and guidance. Celebrían grew to have a very sisterly affection for Estë and Nienna, whose visits were the most frequent. The Healer offered peaceful, soothing rest, and the Weeper was eternally compassionate.

As the years turned slowly on and on, from season to season to season, life passed nearly as normally as always. There were some major adjustments to make, of course, but things went quite smoothly despite that… at least, on the outside. Celebrían was slowly growing anxious, deep in her heart, with one notion: children.

She had often brought up the subject with her husband, and his unwavering response had always been "When _you're _ready, and not a moment before". She knew that the memory of their wedding night was still fresh in Elrond's mind. He wanted to be as respectful to her and her body as he could, and Celebrían admired him very much for that. But she was still quite unsure of herself. Would she ever be truly self-confident?

It took nearly two decades for her to reach a firm verdict about that. As she lay at Elrond II's side one peaceful autumn evening, gazing deep into his calm, moonlit face, Celebrían made up her mind once and for all. Without so much as a single word, she moved into his embrace and shrugged off her nightdress in his presence for the first time.

----

"Do I need to ask what you two were up to last night?" Elrond I muttered in his godson's ear over breakfast the next morning.

Elrond II smiled secretively at his elder half as he lifted his fork to his mouth. "Probably not."

Celebrían sipped calmly at a goblet of water, demurely averting her gaze from them. Her left hand moved covertly to her abdomen, and she silently wondered when, or if, it might begin to slowly swell. Had last night been the first night of nine months that promised to bring great need for readjustments, in many more ways than one? Only Time would tell.

----

_Yes,_ Celebrían thought with a calm smile, _readjustments will most definitely be in order._

She had gone to visit Estë after breakfast on that thoughtful morning, and the Healer had shared terrific news with her – she _was_ pregnant, and with nothing less than twins! Now a few months had gone by, and the gradual enlargement of her abdomen was progressively more obvious.

Celebrían was following Estë's counsel to the letter – she was to drink _no_ alcohol while she was with child, nor was she to exercise intensely, eat too much or too little, dehydrate herself, tire herself out, or raise her body temperature too much; every one of these things would hazard harm to the unborn infants.

To make the matter all the more confusing, Celebrían soon fell prey to the most unnatural cravings and desires, not to mention the most tremendous mood swings. Perfectly content one minute, in tears the next, suddenly furious, and then happy again – that soon became the norm for Celebrían and her close kin, who did everything that they could to help her in this troublesome time. But even with all the help and encouragement she received, the mother-to-be struggled to adjust to her new routine; however temporary it was, this nine-month stretch was proving to be the most challenging period of her life.

As the months crawled by, autumn gave way to winter, and winter blossomed into spring. The nine-month deadline ticked steadily closer. Celebrían began spending more and more time with her mother-in-law. Because she was a mother of twins herself, Elwing was able to give her fundamental advice according to first-hand experience in carrying and giving birth to more than one child.

It was during one of these mother- and daughter-in-law visits that both women received a surprise that had been anticipated for a very long time, but couldn't have come as more of a shock. Elwing and Celebrían were seated casually side-by-side on a bench in the sunlit gardens of Rivendell, engaged deep in pleasantry, when the younger of the two winced in pain.

Elwing frowned at her daughter-in-law in concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Celebrían answered, opening her eyes (she had shut them when the pain had struck). "Just a little pain. I'm all right."

Elwing's eyes widened slightly at these words. "Oh. _Oh. _Tell me," she inquired carefully, "how long has it been since… you know?"

"It's been nine months… _oh,_ my," Celebrían replied, her eyes widening in realization as well. "Do you suppose… this is the day?"

Elwing nodded. "That was more than likely your first contraction, dear. Your children are getting ready to enter the wide world beyond the womb." Her face glowed with pride and joy as she spoke. "These contractions will continue for a little while; eventually they'll be more and more frequent and, regrettably, much more painful. Lie down on your side, take off your loincloth, and _don't_ start pushing yet," she advised. "Wait until I tell you to. Do you remember the right way to breathe, like I told you? Slowly and deeply…"

Celebrían did as she was told, trying to remember the instructions her mother-in-law had given a few days ago. After several minutes and a few more painful contractions, a rush of clear liquid escaped the younger woman's body. Celebrían began to murmur over and over, "Oh my, oh my, oh my…"

"Don't be afraid," Elwing was quick to reassure her. "Your waters just broke. You're fine – now all we need to do is wait for a little while longer, until you get into the first stages of the actual labor. Until then," she said as she stood up, "I'd best call Elrond. He'll want to be here for this. I won't go far."

But she had only taken a few paces before both halves of the elf in question entered the garden, smiling cheerily. They stopped abruptly when they heard Elrond II's wife gasp in pain, as yet another contraction seized her.

"What's going on?" cried the younger half-elf, visibly frightened. Rushing to Celebrían's side, he stared urgently into her face. "Are you all right?"

Celebrían beamed up at him, her cheeks flushed in pure elation. "I'm much more than all right, love. Today is the _Day._ Very soon now, we're going to be parents!"

Elrond II's fear changed right to bliss in the blink of an eye. He let out a most unexpected whoop of joy, which echoed all about the garden and startled several birds from the trees above them. He then threw his arms around his mother, forcing the breath from her lungs. He apologized sincerely, letting her go and adopting a strictly businesslike tone.

"All right," he said briskly, "we need supplies. Elrond, Mother, will you please bring me clean towels, blankets, soap and warm water? I'll stay with Celebrían. And for goodness' sake, please _hurry!_"

Mother and son nodded, dashing back into the haven to retrieve the necessities. Elrond II stayed loyally at his wife's side, holding her hand, praying, and wincing sympathetically as more and more excruciating contractions gripped her. He glanced up sharply when his godfather and mother returned, accompanied by several healers.

The healers laid out blankets underneath Celebrían, and supported her head and back with pillows. An elleth stood by with a bowl of warm, soapy water and a cloth. Elrond II drew in deep, regular breaths, willing his throbbing heart to slow down. He needed to be calm.

Elwing dutifully helped her son take command. She spoke gently to her daughter-in-law, telling her to change her position after several more minutes had passed. Now Celebrían lay almost on her back, with her legs spread apart and knees bent. Soon Elrond I's healer instincts took over, and he assumed a situation that would be the most suitable to help his kinswoman. He wiped anxious perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief, waiting in silent anguish for a crucial moment. Suddenly—

"I can see its head!" cried a young male healer, as Celebrían cried out yet again in agony.

"_Push!_" Elwing ordered her son's wife.

Celebrían's wails increased in volume as she followed the command at each contraction: she would take a deep breath and hold it for ten seconds, then relax and exhale. Time and again she repeated it, as tears of pain streamed down her flushed face.

But at last there came the loudest cry yet – it came not only from Celebrían, but also from the small figure who had just emerged from its mother's body, and was being held gently in Elrond I's outstretched hands.

"It's a boy!" the elder half-elf exclaimed, his voice hoarse with excitement. By the Valar, this brought back so many memories! He turned to glance over at his mother, and thought he saw a tear slip down her cheek, despite the smile she wore.

Compliments and congratulations rang out from the others as Elrond I wiped the blood of delivery from the newborn's tiny, delicate body, and placed him in Celebrían's arms. She gazed silently at her first son with the purest love imaginable glimmering in her eyes. But her work wasn't over yet; the second twin had yet to be born.

Several fleeting (for some) minutes later, there came another clamorous howl, along with many more thrilled cries of "Well done!" Another child – a second son – was greeting the outside world in his own way.

The air was abuzz with a jubilant chorus of voices as the healers helped to tidy Celebrían and her children up. The proud parents reentered Rivendell side-by-side, each elf carrying a baby in his or her fond arms. Elwing was nothing less than ecstatic at the idea of being a grandmother, and was just as eager to let Celebrían's parents know about what had just occurred.

"We'll worry about that later," Elrond II told her with a laugh. "For now, Celebrían needs a good long rest. She's certainly earned it."

His wife smiled modestly. "I can manage for a few more minutes, love. We still need to name the children, you know."

"Of course, we can't forget that," Elrond II nodded. "But I'm afraid I'm not very good at coming up with names…" He glanced questioningly at his godfather, silently beseeching him with his eyes.

Elrond I beamed, and attempted to make his voice as nonchalant as possible. "Well, this is just my own personal opinion, but I think the elder child would suit the name Elladan, and the younger one could be, hmm…" He feigned deep thought for a moment before he finished the sentence. "…Elrohir, maybe?"

"Those are perfect," Celebrían murmured in agreement. She gave him a furtive, knowing smile, as did Elrond II. The elder elf-lord couldn't help but grin; he knew as well as they did that those names hadn't just been chosen at random.

As the group parted ways, Elrond I and Elwing strolled down a corridor together. Elwing wore a rather distant smile, and her son asked quietly, "Where are you, Mother?"

Elwing shook off the misty shroud of reflection, smiling in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I was rather lost in my thoughts… it's nothing."

Elrond I nodded in acceptance, but something suddenly occurred to him. "Only a moment ago, when Elladan was just born, I thought I saw you crying, and it didn't look altogether like tears of joy."

Elwing nodded. "I know. I just had this strange feeling when I saw you holding Elladan. I was looking into your face, and for a moment there, I honestly thought I saw your father looking back at me."


	64. Of Bliss and Blackness

**Chapter Sixty-Three: Of Bliss and Blackness**

Elrond I sighed in complete content as he gazed up at the star-spangled sky from his seat far below, on a bench in the dusky gardens of Rivendell. No-one else was awake save for him, at least as far as he knew. Only the gentle night breeze and the chirruping of crickets serenaded him.

He couldn't seem to fall asleep, which was decidedly strange, because he had longed for a full nights' rest for three years now, and had only received the opportunity a few nights ago. Elladan and Elrohir had _finally_ grown out of the waking-up-at-all-hours-of-the-night phase of childhood. The elder half-elf savored his moment of solitude in the dim stillness, smiling at the wind's sweet caress on his face.

"Good evening, Elrond."

Elrond turned, smiling as a tall, silver-and-grey figure materialized out of nowhere in the moonlight. The elf rose and bowed, replying, "Good evening, Lórien."

The Dream-lord laughed, and the sound echoed like falling droplets of silver rain. "May I join you?"

"Of course," Elrond I nodded, seating himself again and indicating that his friend should follow suit. Lórien sat calmly at his side, and the two of them quietly admired the night's shadowy splendor.

Elrond stared wonderingly up at the stars; Varda's progeny, the children of his aunt; they were his cousins. He couldn't keep back a muffled snigger at the suggestion. The Dream-lord glanced askance at him, asking, "May I ask what is so amusing?"

"Oh, nothing really," his companion replied. "I was just thinking about something Lady Varda told me a long time ago. She said my name, Star-dome, obviously meant the night sky, where her 'children', the stars, dwell. And since my father is one of those stars, Lady Varda said that I must related to her somehow, like a nephew. So that would technically make the other stars my cousins."

Lórien's laughter chimed out again. "Forgive my saying so, but that _is_ rather humorous."

Their merriment mingled in the cool air, sweeping away on the slight breeze that wound and wove its way through the starlit valley. The Dream-lord was still smiling as he turned his own gaze upward to the gibbous moon. Another chuckle escaped him as he murmured to no-one apparent, "You're catching up, but she will never let you have her."

"Pardon, sir?" Elrond frowned, overhearing him.

"Oh, nothing really," Lórien said nonchalantly. "I was just thinking aloud, remembering Tilion. Have you ever heard the story of why his path is so irregular?"

"Yes, but I have a feeling I'm about to hear it again," the half-elf grinned. "Please go on."

"Well, as you know, the last fruit and flower of the Two Trees of Valinor were crafted by Aulë into two vessels, Anár and Isil – the Sun and the Moon. These were hallowed by Manwë and given light by Varda; it was then decreed that they should be carried through the sky by two of the Maiar, with each of the lights having its own time of 'domination', you might say.

"Arien was selected to steer the Sun, because she is fearless of its heat; but Tilion begged Manwë and Varda to be the one to convey the Moon, because of his endless adoration of Arien. So at last they relented, and Arien and Tilion rose into the sky one at a time. Arien was confident in her duty and sure of her path, and she guides the Sun accurately to this day. But Tilion was very uncertain, and he also desired desperately to be near Arien, who has rejected him time and again; she wishes to be always virgin and alone.

"Still Tilion pursued her, bringing the Moon often into her own period of dominance, the Day. That is why the Moon and the Sun are visible in the sky at the same time now and again. And when the Moon's shadow blots out the Sun in an eclipse, Tilion has come too close to Arien and blocked out her light. But he always suffers for his attempts; her fire is too much for him, and he is constantly burned."

"He must be heartbroken," Elrond I commented in quiet compassion. "To be denied over and over like that must be awful for him."

"I can imagine how it would affect him," the Dream-lord agreed. "But it seems neither he nor Arien can do a thing to alter that. They both have their assigned tasks to perform, as do we all."

The half-elf nodded. "And some of those tasks are much clearer than others."

Lórien discreetly averted his gaze a bit as he sighed, "I could not possibly agree with you more on that point."

----

Years passed. Some things changed, while others remained the same. Children grew up to be adults, and many of those adults stayed hale in the face of old age, while some did not. More children were born, not the least significant of which being Arwen, the daughter of Elrond II and Celebrían.

As Arwen blossomed into a lovely young maiden, it was proclaimed by nearly everyone that here was Lúthien Tinúviel returned to Arda. Arwen's wavy hair was not quite as dark as her father's, more resembling that of her grandmother Elwing, but her eyes were those of her mother. Arwen's brothers, however, were the image of their grandfather Eärendil – they both had the mariner's straight, midnight-black hair and silver-grey eyes.

Every time Elrond I watched those three young adults partaking in whatever activities, he was sorely reminded of how they had grown in his past. The twins had been inseparable (and were still!), and their sister had often accompanied them on various excursions and hunts in the wild. That much held true in these days. But the elder half-elf couldn't help but worry, deep down in his soul. Time was running short. Morgoth had already attacked him twelve times, and the Third Age was still only starting.

But what a start it had been! On the plus side: there was no Sauron to terrify the innocent, no fear of a rise to power after a long stretch of dormancy. Peace and order both had their places in the world, and alliances between the Free Peoples – elves, humans and dwarfs – were extremely strong, perhaps stronger than they ever had been.

The minus side of affairs was much more personal to Elrond: his nuptials had nearly been annihilated by a perverted kinsman, Morgoth's will was as powerful as ever, and with all of these changes to his life, the half-elf's security in his existence was crumbling just like weathered stone. He needed answers to the myriad questions careening around his mind.

----

"I am afraid that I cannot reveal much to you at this time," Mandos sighed with obvious regret. "You know as well as I do that Eru only allows me to reveal His plans at His own decree. I cannot simply disclose His greatest secrets at random to whomever I choose."

"Is there anything you _can_ tell me right now?" Elrond I asked carefully. "I'd like to know about what happened with Halanor. You know that in my past life, Celebrían fell prey to orcs under the Misty Mountains, two and a half thousand years after our wedding. After I had healed her wounds as well as I could, she sailed to Valinor, and I didn't see her again until I too journeyed there, five hundred years later. Will that happen again?"

To his not-entirely-unpleasant surprise, the Doomsman smiled. "I am glad to say that the answer to that is a definite 'no'. There are no orcs or Uruk-hai in Arda anymore; thus the likelihood of such an event repeating itself is wholly nonexistent. Celebrían is completely safe. I shall not lay claim to her, nor you, nor your children."

The final sentence was lost to Elrond. He could barely hold himself in check as boundless bliss drenched him like sunlight. Celebrían was safe! The elf wanted to laugh, to weep in joy, to fling his arms around the bringer of those wonderful tidings. For dignity's sake, he managed to keep a bridle on his emotions as they boiled up in his heart, and he stood still. But a huge grin still found its way to his lips.

Mandos suddenly laughed; it was the first time Elrond had ever heard such a sound from him, and he was caught quite off-guard by the warm, hearty resonance. The Vala's dark-hued eyes beamed benevolence as he spoke in answer to the eager, inquiring voice within his friend's heart. "If you feel that you _must_ do what you must, then I will not attempt to stop you."

The very next second, all of the air was squeezed from his lungs as Elrond I seized him in an embrace of pure elation. Tears of euphoria streamed down the elf's face as he sobbed out his thanks again and again. Mandos could do nothing but stand motionless, since his arms were being pinioned to his sides, but he managed to gather enough breath to speak.

"You are most welcome," he gasped, giving a rather strained smile. "But I would greatly appreciate it if I could have the full use of my lungs back, please."

Elrond I instantly blushed a bright scarlet, letting the Doomsman go and stepping back to give him room to breathe. They both took a moment to compose themselves, with Elrond I wiping his face while Mandos gingerly massaged his aching ribs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but he decided it would be wise to visit Estë for a second opinion.

"Well," said the Vala, secretly feeling atypically discomfited, even though he effectively masked the emotion with a casual smile, "that went… quite well."

"Indeed," Elrond agreed, replacing his handkerchief in his pocket. "Indeed it did."

They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, until the ringing of a bell signaled that the evening meal was ready. The half-elf bowed to his companion, asking, "Will you join me for dinner?"

"It would be my pleasure to."

----

Arwen couldn't help but smile whenever she thought of her father's godfather. He was in the most unusual moods lately. She had heard him humming happily to himself as he had approached the dining hall for dinner, and later on he had met Elrond II with a _very_ tight hug. The lord of Imladris had clearly contracted Elrond I's contagious high spirits, for he could often be seen practically skipping along the corridors, a gleeful grin pasted onto his features.

The daughter of Elrond now paced the sunlit halls of her father's haven, breathing deeply as the scent of lavender flooded her nostrils. Elrond I had once told her that the smell of lavender was associated with Estë, the Valië whose specialty was rest and healing. Arwen had once asked him how he knew that, and the half-elf had merely smiled and replied that he'd heard stories from some who had seen her.

The young maid had accepted that, back then being none the wiser to the truth. But much later on, she had overheard her father and his godfather talking about nothing other than a meeting with the Valar! She definitely remembered hearing the names Mandos, Lórien, Varda, Manwë, Aulë and Oromë; and there may have been others. But just that alone was enough to pique the elleth's suspicions to the breaking-point.

Arwen had confronted the two of them later that day, and to her not-very-great surprise, due to the information she already had, she had found out that Elrond I and II were in fact on very good terms with all fourteen Valar. Her father had made her promise never to tell another living soul of that; she had made her pledge sincerely. No matter how much her brothers had pestered her for information, Arwen's lips had remained tightly sealed, and the twins soon forgot the whole thing. All the better for those whose secret it really was.

----

Lórien moved imperceptibly through Imladris' corridors, the sense of his immaterial eyes strong in the half-light of sundown. Normally at this time of night he would be elsewhere, distributing dreams to sleepers, but tonight he was hearkening to his brother's summons. Mandos had interrupted the Dream-lord's duty – he had to have a very good reason.

_I am here, Irmo._

Lórien halted at the sound of his brother's voice from before him. He discerned Mandos' incorporeal spirit hovering a few feet in front of him, and also a few feet above the floor. The Doomsman's countenance was grave and foreboding.

_Why have you called me away from my duties, Námo?_ the Dream-lord asked.

_You have another task to perform tonight. I have told you of it before._

Lórien's insubstantial heart quivered in the area where his chest would have been. _Yes, I remember… you wish for me to manufacture nightmares, and other such things that are far beyond my area of expertise – and **pleasure**, for that matter,_ he added with a clearly audible note of bitterness.

Mandos' head would have nodded, if he had had one at that point. _So you know what is expected of you._

_Well enough. Should I be aware of any specific details to include in these new visions of horror?_

_No,_ replied the Doomsman. _Just try to summon up the most frightening concepts and images that you can, to begin with. It will become easier from there._

_Oh, it will, will it?_ Lórien snarled, dredging up every drop of sarcasm he could muster, and letting all of it saturate his mental voice. _I'd better get a good start on it, then. Good evening._

----

Elrond I sat up slowly in his bed as Lórien entered in a smoke-grey flurry, standing at the elf's bedside in unusual silence. His face, normally so benevolent, was now impassive; he resembled Mandos more than anyone else.

"Is something wrong?" Elrond inquired, wary of each word.

The Vala's response, a vague echo of his brother's words, was brief and noticeably terse. "My task begins tonight. Lie down."

Elrond I obeyed without query, noting, with a stab of worry, the strange ice in his friend's eyes. He had to repress an obvious shudder as the Dream-lord sat silently on the chair by his bedside. Lórien took no notice, however, and drew a deep breath to relax himself. But the elf saw the Vala's fingers tense and curl into a tight fist, and his stomach gave a lurch of trepidation.

Lórien closed his eyes, refusing to allow his fears to show. This was not like anything he had ever attempted before. He delved deep into the darkest recesses of all the Ages of the world: the time of the Sun, the years of the Trees, and back even further. He gathered up memories of fear like a young child might collect eye-catching stones, or colorful autumn leaves. But the Vala's mind was far from being contented.

No, this was the _very_ last thing he wanted to be doing right now. He wouldn't wish such a terrible obligation upon his worst enemy. This went against **_everything_** he had done for the past hundreds of thousands of years… everything that he knew to be _right. _How could Námo do this to _him,_ Lórien, his own _brother?_

But there was no time to dwell on that. He had a job to do, however terrible it was.

The Vala drew another deep breath, and held it for an interminable instant before letting go, and lowering his hand deliberately to Elrond's brow.

No power on the earth could have readied him for what happened next.

Instead of only the visions entering the elf's mind, Lórien's essence in all its entirety was drawn away from his body, channeled through his fingers, and shunted through Elrond's skull, into the mind within the physical brain. The Vala could only give voice to a single, desperate scream, and it was a scream whose pitch keened even to heights beyond human or elven hearing. The pain was unbearable, the blackness squeezing and compressing his spirit as it pulled him on to whatever destination.

Lórien's lifeless body slumped forward in his chair; his lungs were stilled and his heart silent. His right hand was still upon Elrond I's forehead, and beneath his cold fingers, the sleeping elf was now beginning to jerk and twitch, caught fast in the iron grip of a dream that the silver-haired Vala had never created.

_Someone else_ had seized the ideal instant. It had been only too tempting…


	65. Angels and Demons

**Chapter Sixty-Four: Angels and Demons**

Elsewhere, not very far from Elrond I's bedchamber, Estë sensed her husband's agonized cry, and her head jerked up so quickly that she heard her neck crick. Stepping away from the elf she was ministering to as she healed her own discomfort, the Valië left the room in a whirl of pale grey, and left behind a distinctive, lingering aroma of lavender.

Arriving moments later in the elder half-elf's bedroom, the Healer started at the horrible scenario. Lórien sat hunched in his chair, as Elrond I jerked and whimpered fitfully below him. Estë urgently, but gently lifted her husband's drooping head, prying open his closed eyelid. The eye beneath it was staring into space, its sense dead.

Frantically, Estë checked for Lórien's pulse and breathing, and sobbed in panic when she found neither. There… there had to be a reason behind this. She had to be calm. Yes, that was it, calm. _Think things through,_ the Valië ordered herself. _Find a way to do whatever you can. When in doubt, call for help._

All right, what did she know was certain? Her husband was dead to the world, and Elrond I was asleep and dreaming. But could either of them be roused? There was only one way to find out.

Estë first sent a thought into Lórien's mind, praying for an answer. All she received was a painful echo, an image of barrenness. The Dream-lord's spirit had truly departed from his body. The Valië then shook Elrond's right shoulder as hard as she dared to, sending out a barrage of urgent thoughts to his mind.

This time she felt a bizarre, forceful sensation of something sucking at her thoughts, as if it was feeding off of them. She quickly cut off the flow, swaying momentarily where she stood. A tear streaked her face, followed by another and another as hope left her. _When in doubt, call for help…_

Estë composed her thoughts and sent out a desperate message to Manwë. The Wind-lord came immediately to her aid, almost before the words had fully left her mind. He needed no explanation, but swept to the bed at once. A swift once-over of both Elrond and Lórien confirmed the Healer's worst fears.

"We cannot hope to help them," he sighed heavily. "No-one can. Wherever they are, our friends must fight their own battle."

----

_Lórien stared uneasily about at his new, dark environment, all five of his senses tingling in unadulterated, effervescent horror. There was nothing here, nothing but blackness. But that same blackness was so thick, it felt like it was crawling all over him like a swarm of dark insects, their many legs pinching and tickling at him in a most unpleasant way. And the muted pounding of his own heart against his ribs was deafening in the silence. Where was Elrond? This was **his** mind, he had **no right** to be off gallivanting somewhere else…_

"_I'm right here," said a voice in his ear, that came from just behind him._

_The Dream-lord nearly jumped out of his body in utter shock – and since he was a Vala, that was literally possible. Even so, it took him rather a long while to calm down enough to turn around._

"_Elrond," he breathed at last, his voice thick with relief as he put a hand to his thumping heart. "Thank goodness."_

"_It isn't thanks to **any** goodness that you're here," the half-elf replied grimly. "Wherever 'here' happens to be," he added, gazing around at their completely empty surroundings. All they could see was blackness, save for each other._

"_I assure you I have no idea," Lorien sighed. "I also assure you that this was not of my devising. I think it has something to do with my task."_

"_Yes, about that," Elrond I spoke up. "Was your so-called task to send me nightmares?"_

"_Yes," the Vala confessed, hanging his head in shame. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. It was…" He trailed off, his shoulders slumping dejectedly._

"_Don't apologize," said an understanding voice from nearby, as a third figure came into their sight. The newcomer appeared exactly alike to Elrond I, and for good reason. It was his godson and his other half._

"_Well, at least we know I'm all here," Elrond I managed to smile. Then he sniffed. "Here in Nowhere."_

"_Is it, though?" Lórien wondered aloud. "Somehow, I imagined your subconscious to be a good deal… well, brighter."_

_Elrond I shared a glance with himself, and both halves spoke together. "It normally is."_

**_Well, I am sorry to disappoint – actually, I'm not – but we can't all have everything we want, can we? At least I have something, though… you, here, all alone._**

_Elf and Vala froze, not daring even to breathe loudly. Slowly, so slowly they turned, three pairs of blue eyes wide with horror. Both friends immediately wished they hadn't moved, but by then it was too late. They were staring their enemy in the face… or at least, in the eyes. That was all they could discern: two great crimson orbs hovering in the void above them, that appeared to be sizing them up, mocking them without making a sound._

"_Why have you brought me here?" Lórien demanded._

_**Now, why would I tell you that? **simpered the voice from somewhere in the vicinity of the eyes. **It would spoil all the FUN.**_

_With the word 'fun', their environment changed. Light rushed back, although it was only a sick half-light from the cloud-obscured moon which appeared in the sky that had taken the place of much of the emptiness. Lórien and Elrond found themselves standing on firm ground – some expanse of level rock, by the look of it. _

_The red eyes had gone; in their place stood a tall, bony, black-skinned figure whose arms were folded across its bony torso. Two immense, bat-like wings unfurled from the figure's protruding shoulder blades, and a tangled mane of greasy black hair fell past the lanky shoulders. Its eyes were as bright red as fresh-spilled blood: miniatures of those they had just seen._

_Lórien sent urgently into Elrond's mind: _That is not Morgoth's true form. It is merely a guise, such as the wolf you saw long before. Be careful! He can alter his shape at will.

_The elf nodded both of his heads, not taking any of his four eyes off of the black figure as Elrond II spoke to it. "What do you want?"_

**_Only what I have craved for the past four thousand years. YOU._**

"_Mm-hmm," the young half-elf nodded slowly. "You know, I've never in fact understood the exact reason for that. Maybe if you clarified it a bit for me…"_

_The figure gave a mocking laugh. **What is there to clarify? All I desire is to dominate the world. You, weakling, are precious to those whom I wish to overthrow.**_

"_Riiiiiight," Elrond I spoke up, drawing out the word. "And are you really sure you want to reveal all of that while one of 'those whom you wish to overthrow' is standing between my two halves?" Elrond was the only elf who could use that phrase and have it make any sense._

_**Irmo has long known of my intentions,** said Morgoth haughtily.** Indeed, I have wanted that dominion ever since before Eä was even created. But things have changed because of one elf who occupies twice as much space on the earth as he should.**_

"_You will never take him," snarled Lórien, stepping forward. "Not so long as the Valar's words are law among all races of this earth. If one of us still breathes, you will remain as ever you were – cut off from all else, a prisoner of the Outer Void."_

**_Brave words, Dream-giver. But are your feet as sure as your tongue?_**

_The Dark Lord leapt, flinging himself full-force into the silver-haired Vala's body as the half-elf jumped aside. Lórien struck back in the midst of the fall, thrusting his own body forward, turning the tables and pinning his foe to the stone. Lórien couldn't hold back a triumphant smile as he informed his opponent, "You're not as sure-footed as you claim to be."_

_Morgoth growled in rage, rolling over so that the Dream-lord was now beneath him. **Nor are you as strong as you claim to be.**_

"_Oh, I never claimed to be strong," said Lórien cheerfully, even as he wrestled his rival. "You're the one who seems to be doing a lot of that."_

_The ex-Vala's face contorted in rage and malevolent determination. **Then why don't we take our fight to another level?**_

_As Elrond I and II watched in spellbound shock, Morgoth changed shape faster than the eye could detect, becoming a huge black stallion. Great hoofs pawed the air as he reared onto his hind legs, preparing to trample Lórien under him. But the Dream-lord retaliated, assuming the form of a horsefly, which bit the horse on its ebony hindquarters and darted away before the lashing tail could swat him._

_Morgoth immediately turned to a praying mantis, and snatched at the irksome insect with its long forearms. Lórien then changed into a bat, whose high-pitched sonar calls adeptly began scrambling the predator's brain. But the Dark Lord switched yet again, before the damage was too severe. _

_An ebony-feathered owl swooped down upon the silver-furred bat, its beak open, ready to swallow. Lórien became a wildcat, and raked his claws ferociously across his opponent's wings. As Morgoth plummeted to the ground, wings spattered with black blood, the Lord of Dreams advanced, growling and hissing. But Morgoth then took back his initial form, and lay panting as he stared up at his feline adversary in unspoken rage._

_Lórien became himself again as well, smoothing his robes offhandedly as he returned the ex-Vala's glare. "Do you yield?"_

_**Never. **Morgoth struggled to his feet, and the Dream-lord made no attempt to help him. **I will best you yet!**_

_He attacked once more, and Lórien, who was in a much healthier condition, tripped him neatly as he lunged forward. But the Dark Lord quickly gripped his rival's ankle as he hit the rock, and the silver-haired Vala fell beside him. Then Morgoth was on top of him, his hot breath scorching Lórien's face as he spoke in a hiss of a voice._

**_Do you want to know what it feels like, this body? Here, let me show you…_**

_He pressed his clawed hand against the Vala's forehead, and Lórien screamed in pain. A searing sensation surged through him, originating where Morgoth's hand met his brow. It spread out in an agonizing flood, overwhelming him, burning him… and changing him._

_A few feet away, Elrond could only gawp, spellbound at the terrible spectacle. Lórien and Morgoth were changing shape together, their bodies twisting and contorting, becoming… **each other.** The Dark Lord adopted a fair complexion, silver hair and pale grey clothing, while the Lord of Dreams was stripped to almost total nakedness, save for a loincloth of threadbare fabric that was tied around his ebony-skinned waist. When both figures stood up, the watching elf gasped in shock._

_Morgoth climbed slowly to his feet, absently smoothing his robe as did so. He didn't turn right away, but spoke, in the voice of Lórien, to the black form huddled at his feet._

"_Oh, you've been through worse. Bear it like a man, why don't you?" He gave a spiteful laugh. "But then again, you never claimed to be strong…"_

_**BE SILENT! **roared the figure who resembled Morgoth. He scrambled upright, panting heavily, his eyes blazing with rage._

_Elrond I and II both gasped at the same time. Lórien's new eyes were not now the eyes of Morgoth, however the rest of his body belied it. The irises that stood out starkly against the ebony face and ivory whites were not blood-red, but a pale blue hue similar to that of Elrond's eyes. Those were the eyes of the Dream-lord, not the Dark Lord. And they were shining with tears._

_The figure of Lórien turned around, and the half-elf now saw, with a brutal stab of horror to each heart, that in the fair face burned two icy, ruthless crimson eyes. Morgoth's eyes. The sight of his worst enemy looking back at him out of his friend's face was more than enough to make Elrond want to be immediately and abominably ill._

_The false Dream-lord grinned viciously, with Lórien's teeth. "What is it? Don't you know me, Elrond?"_

"_You're not Lórien," Elrond II whispered, struggling to hide his fear. "You will **never** be him. You're just a lie. Everything you ever told me was untrue."_

_Morgoth's cruel sneer never wavered. "Now, now, is that any way to treat a brother?"_

"_You are no brother of mine!" Elrond I cried out. "You're nothing but a shadow! Get out of my mind, and go back to the Void!"_

_**Yes, **whispered the real Dream-lord from behind the copy. **That's it… banish him.**_

_Morgoth suddenly whipped around, the back of his borrowed hand catching Lórien full in the face. He staggered and toppled to the side, knocked off-balance, and cracked his head viciously against the unyielding stone. He lay there unconscious and unmoving as Elrond rushed to his side._

_Morgoth sneered all the more angrily, twisting the mouth that was not his. Without prior warning, the stone beneath the elf and the fallen Vala began to split and crumble. Elrond I and II dragged their comrade to safer ground, but soon the younger half-elf cried out as he fell past the hole where the rock had been just moments before. Only his quick reflexes saved him, by urging him to grab his godfather's ankle._

_Elrond I, dragged backward by his own weight, soon found himself gripping the jagged rim of the ledge for dear life. Morgoth knelt just above him, using Lórien's hand to reach down to him. His lips parted as he prepared to speak, and in that fraction of a fraction of an instant the elder half-elf knew exactly what to do next._

_Morgoth seemed unaware of the Dream-lord's crumpled form lying prostrate beside him as he gave a disarming smile, and added a singsong lilt to a murmur in the fallen Vala's voice:_

"_Eeny… meeny…"_

_Time was moving in slow motion. The words took minutes to move from lips to ears, and an unnoticed hand crawled through the air, toward the wrist of a black-skinned figure on the ledge above…_

_When Time snapped back to full speed, Elrond I took control, and he snarled out the final two words of the age-old lullaby in rhythm to his next actions._

"_Miney—" _

_He seized the unconscious Lórien's arm in his white-knuckled left hand._

"—_Mo."_

_He let go with his right hand, allowing he, his godson and the lifeless Dream-lord to fall down and down and down, into the infinite oblivion below…_

…and back into his body, with a shock that made one heart skip even as it jerked another back into the steady pulsating rhythm of life. Elrond I stirred in his bed and blinked as he awoke, and Lórien drew in a first blessed breath as his spirit returned to his own body and carried him back to awareness.

The Dream-lord slowly lifted his leaden-feeling head, gazing blearily around him. Elrond I was sitting up in his bed, panting hard, with his hand pressed to his apparently galloping heart. And Estë and Manwë stood at the bedside, tears of pure relief in their eyes and on their cheeks.

Lórien managed to summon a faint smile and a slightly hoarse whisper. "The tables have been strangely turned on us, it seems."


	66. Turning the Tables

**Chapter Sixty-Five: Turning the Tables**

"What do you mean by that?" inquired Estë.

"The dream we were trapped in… it was bizarre," Lórien replied. "Morgoth paid scarcely any attention to Elrond; his target, this time, appeared to be no-one but me…"

"You?" Manwë wondered aloud, his brows knitting in confusion. "Why?"

The Dream-lord shut his eyes for a moment, leaning back in his chair as he thought about this deeply. Estë laid a hand on his shoulder, and Elrond I flinched in alarm, so he opened his eyes again and spoke. "I believe it was because of my close relationship with Elrond; Morgoth may have targeted any of us, however, if we had been near to him at the time of the attack."

"You fought him off, though," the elder half-elf spoke up. "I could _never_ have done what you did. It was exceedingly brave of you."

"Thank you," Lórien smiled faintly.

"What _did_ happen in that dream?" asked Estë. "How exactly did you combat Morgoth?"

The silver-haired Vala glanced over at Elrond. "I was cataleptic for the last few moments of it. You would know the tale's end better than I."

The elf explained in detail how his friend had wrestled with the Dark Lord, and how they had taken on each other's bodies after a brief struggle. He described the crumbling of the cliff, and how he had discovered that the key to freedom from the apparition lay in letting both friends fall from the precipice, just as Morgoth had wanted them to.

"…Because," Elrond I concluded, "as everyone who has had that kind of dream knows, falling from any great height in a vision ensures that the observer will wake up just before he or she hits the ground."

"Undoubtedly it does," nodded Lórien, understanding entering his eyes. "I have used that rule many more times than I can recall."

"What of Morgoth?" inquired Estë. "Did he flee as soon as you awoke, or…?" She trailed off, leaving her words hanging in midair, and wished she hadn't spoken.

The Dream-lord stared at Elrond I in wordless horror. The very same question had been burning through their own minds. What _had_ become of their adversary? The half-elf had a hunch, and Lórien had a plan to prove it.

"Where is the last Silmaril?" he asked.

Elrond opened his mouth to reply, but halted abruptly when frantic knocks sounded upon the bedroom door. Manwë waved a hand casually at the lock, which clicked, and the door swung open. Three ashen-faced elves stumbled across the threshold – Arwen, Celebrían and Elwing. They all fell reverently to their knees, and the watching Valar gave courteous nods in reply.

Taking that as a cue to rise, the three women hurried to the side of their father, husband and son. The half-elf smiled at their obvious concern, but noticed the tearstains on all of their faces, no matter how his kinswomen tried to hide them. But Arwen saw something about her father that the others had not.

"Is that _blood_ in your hair?" she asked Elrond anxiously.

Elrond I put his hand up to the place his daughter had indicated, feeling something warm, wet and rather sticky on his fingertips. He pulled his hand back, and stared numbly at the deep scarlet smears. The Dream-lord leaned closer to get a better look, and then shivered as he spoke.

"That is _my_ wound," he breathed in quiet horror. "When I was fighting Morgoth, my head was dashed against the stone ledge, and it struck in that very place. The presence of my spirit in your body must have relocated my injuries to you. _I_ should be the wounded one."

"That's hardly your fault," Elrond reassured his comrade, as Estë quietly saw to it that the lesion was healed. "Blame it on Morgoth. He's the one who is behind all of this."

Lórien sighed, then turned his head as a flicker of darkness caught his eye. Mandos came into sight in the doorway, speaking telepathically to his brother even before his body was made whole. _You are not entirely correct._

The others all looked to him, and the Doomsman continued coolly. _You must remember that a greater force even than Morgoth is keeping these occurrences under His control. This is all occurring for a reason._

The Dream-lord stared accusingly at his brother, anger imbuing his voice with calculated slowness. _You… you **knew** of this?_

Mandos nodded. _I cannot deny that I did. I was fully aware of all that has happened._

_You **knew** that Morgoth would attack,_ Lórien whispered mentally, his thoughts shaking in rage, _yet you ordered me to proceed with my task. You foresaw everything._

The dark-haired Vala sighed in deep regret. _Yes. I am sorry it had to come to this._

_Apologies cannot undo this!_ cried Estë, intruding upon their conversation. _How could you do such a thing to your own **brother**? He could have been killed!_

_But he was not. I knew that he would survive._

_It makes no difference!_ the Healer retorted, with a tremendously uncharacteristic snarl to her normally-serene voice. Her lavender eyes blazed with unchecked fury. _Treachery, Námo! Treason and betrayal!_

Mandos was submissive throughout all this. _I had my orders given to me, and I followed them._

Elrond I could feel that this wasn't going to end well at all. He nodded to his mother, wife and daughter, and murmured under his breath to them. "Go back to bed, please."

They all nodded, and slipped out of the room without a word of protest from any of them. Elrond turned his frightened gaze back to Mandos and Estë, whom it appeared were still deep in a standoff.

_Why in all of Eä would Eru command you to permit this to happen – worse still, to set it in motion?_ the Healer cried out in disbelief.

_He has His own reasons,_ Mandos told her, in a voice like a razor. _Are you willing to put yourself against the will of your Creator?_

Estë did not respond to him immediately. Her eyes still flashed irately, but gradually their fire dimmed and died. She bowed her head humbly, sighing one word. _No._

The Doomsman nodded curtly, turning his gaze to Lórien as the Dream-lord spoke up in a rather quavery voice, repeating the query which had earlier been addressed to Elrond I.

Mandos moved smoothly toward the half-elf's wardrobe, taking down the black box that now held only one jewel, nestled in a black velvet bed. He took the Silmaril from its dark wrappings and held it out in his right hand, then tossed it skillfully into the air toward his brother. "Catch…"

Lórien held out his own hands as Time seemed to decelerate to a snail's pace. The radiant jewel turned over and over in the air, rising to its full altitude before arcing downward… he could almost feel it, even when it was inches from his fingers…

…and then his palms cupped the large, faceted gem, which was quite cool and heavy in his hands. No smoke curled into the air; no stench of blood and burning flesh arose. The Dream-lord, at least, was safe from evil. No… he was not truly safe, of course, but it had not infected him as he had feared.

The Vala then held the Silmaril forth in his right hand, and Elrond I stretched out his own to take it. Again – thank Eru! – cool, glassy radiance was all that met him. Morgoth had indeed taken flight, having been thwarted for the thirteenth time. Now, only three attacks were yet to come. And these, Elrond was sure, would be more devastating than anything he had so far experienced. He certainly didn't need Mandos' riddles to tell him that.

----

Decades ticked past day by day, soon blossoming into centuries. The Third Age now held nearly two millennia, all of which had seen peace for the many countries of Middle-earth; generally, in any case. The cumbersome burden that was his very life weighed ever more heavily on Elrond, now that the attacks were approaching their end. That alone was more than enough of a load to bear upon his heart, but another pressing issue had come to light only recently.

The matter was Arwen. After an extended trip to Greenwood several years past, the lady of Imladris had returned full of exuberant chatter about a golden-haired ellon by the name of Voronwë. Elrond II soon consulted his godfather, and found out that this was a far cry from what had happened "last time", when Arwen had fallen in love with a human man, and had, as a result, chosen to become mortal. Not so in the present, it seemed. Not at all.

"This isn't _right!_" Elrond I soon cried to Mandos. "What about Aragorn? What about the Sword-that-was-Broken? What ab—"

"Calm down," the Doomsman cut him off, unperturbedly. "I have told you before, these things will sort themselves out in time. I also granted you another view of the future, but of course, you were not paying attention…"

"All right, so half of this is really _my_ fault," the half-elf admitted. "Might I ask just what I wasn't paying attention to?"

Mandos seemed only too happy to oblige. "When I gave you news of Celebrían's safety, I stated _quite specifically_ that I would lay claim to neither her, nor you, nor your children. You were, understandably, too absorbed in your wife's well-being to take heed of me."

"Thank you for being so patient with me, sire," Elrond I smiled gratefully, before lapsing into deep thought. Mandos would not lay claim to him, his wife or his children… Arwen would have no reason to become mortal…

"Here is a second hint," the Vala spoke up, poking momentarily into Elrond's rumination. "You will now achieve for your daughter that which you most desperately desired for her 'last time', as you put it."

Elrond I could almost feel the collision of realization connecting forcefully with his mind. He was so jolted by it that he managed to speak only in a stammer: "I wanted Arwen… to sail to Valinor, and to… leave Aragorn behind."

He didn't need the Doomsman's nod to confirm his thoughts. A hundred mingled feelings churned within him, all of them soon overwhelmed by the warm, golden glow of absolute ecstasy. For the second time, Elrond wanted to leap forward and… but… well, dare he do that again? It had been a **_complete_** breach of etiquette, no matter how Mandos had let it happen…

"Oh, go on," the Vala smiled patiently. "If you really – _must,_" he managed to wheeze, as all his breath left his lungs in quite a hurry. "Try not to break any ribs, if you please… ah, yes, thank you."

"You're very welcome, my lord," the half-elf replied, wiping his joyously-teary eyes with the back of his hand.

Once the half-elf took his leave, a grey-clad figure took shape behind the Doomsman, and the amused voice of Lórien spoke in his mind. _You enjoyed that **thoroughly**, I can tell._

"What, that nearly rib-cracking embrace?" Mandos retorted with a wry smile. "Elrond is very happy, that is all." He sighed half to himself, his smile slowly widening to turn to a grin. "Although, I do truly love it when he is."

"He _does_ care about you, you know," the Dream-lord said softly, moving to his brother's side. "The fact that you are the Doomsman must make it that much harder to accept, not to mention harder to demonstrate."

The dark-haired Vala nodded. "Yes, I know. But we must trust in Time."

----

Spring mornings sprung up to pave the way for bright summer, and fall evenings fell prey to winter's cold gloom. The endless cycle of life, death and rebirth recurred time and time again, neither failing nor halting, as steady as the stars. Light and Dark each had their say, and each at least tolerated the other. Tilion still pursued Arien in his futile but undaunted quest for her love, and Eärendil still crossed the wide heavens in his hallowed silver ship.

Arwen brushed a waving tress of her deep brown hair out of her eyes, where it had been blown by the gentle breezes of early summer. Tucking the unruly lock behind one tapered ear, the lady of Imladris reclined a bit on her bench by the river in the eastern gardens of Rivendell, gazing up at the verdant, shade-giving boughs of the stately oak above her.

She brushed a fluffy, windblown dandelion seed from a page of the book she was quietly reading, and had just finished a few more sentences when there came a gleeful hoot, a splash, and a wave of cold water across the maiden's bare feet and the hem of her gown. She leapt to her feet with a gasp and a shout, setting aside her book as she rose. "Elladan, you villain!"

"What?" her eldest brother grinned impishly, breaking the river's already rippled surface with his raven-haired head as he came up for air. He extended a dripping-wet hand to her, his silvery eyes glinting. "A little water never hurt anyone! Care to join me?"

"Not dressed like that, she won't!" a voice exactly like Elladan's called to them from the other side of the river. "Arwen doesn't like getting her gowns wet. You should know that, Dan!"

Elladan flicked water at his younger twin as he trod water to keep afloat. "I _know,_ Ro! I was just asking! She _can_ change her clothes, you know!" Elladan himself was clothed in nothing but his breeches; the sun glinted off of the water that dripped from his bare arms and torso in rivulets.

Elrohir shrugged carelessly, and addressed his sister. "How about it, will you join us once you change?" He pulled off his tunic as he spoke, tossing it onto the grass and curling his body into a ball as he jumped into the river alongside his brother. Arwen leapt backwards this time as more water drenched her ankles and feet.

"One more stunt like that and I won't!" she retorted, laughing. "Give me a few minutes."

She ran deftly across the wide stone bridge that traversed the river, hurrying back into the haven and to her own bedchamber. She darted out again five minutes later, clad in attire that was much more suitable for swimming. Spurning the bridge, Arwen rushed down the grassy riverside and into the shallows of the river, gasping and giggling as the water came past the already damp areas of her legs.

Elrond I and II both watched them from an adjacent window, smiling at the faint echoes of splashing water and lighthearted laughter. The elder half-elf stifled a laugh of his own as he watched Arwen playfully dunk Elladan's head under the water, and get pulled down herself by a submerged Elrohir.

"Was it like this at all last time?" Elrond II asked his godfather.

"In the twins' case, yes," Elrond I replied. "Arwen wasn't quite so inclined to have fun as they were. I wonder how she changed?"

"Only Eru and Lord Mandos know, I suppose," Elrond II shrugged. He sighed wistfully. "I think they've got a rather good idea, don't you?"

Elrond I nodded, turning from the window and walking over to his wardrobe. "I couldn't agree more. What do you say we go out and join them?"


	67. Flames New and Old

**Chapter Sixty-Six: Flames New and Old**

Three hundred and ninety years… that was how long it had been since Morgoth's assault on Elrond's mind; a hundred and one since Elrond I had found out that Arwen would not be mortal. A hundred years had passed by since Arwen and Voronwë had begun courting. And now, in the year 2427 of the Third Age, Elrond II was on the threshold of becoming a father-in-law.

The younger half-elf walked slowly down a grassy walkway bordered by vibrant flowers, with his daughter on his arm, and his wife on Arwen's other side. He nodded courteously to Voronwë's mother and father – two golden-haired elves named, respectively, Laurëlas and Cilithon – as he passed them. King Thranduil of Greenwood waited patiently at the front of the aisle, ready to act as minister for the bride and groom. Voronwë stood beside a cluster of groomsmen, with a vacant space on his left side for Arwen to take up. Elladan and Elrohir stood side-by-side, acting jointly as ring-bearers.

Thranduil's voice then rang out to fill the eager ears of the assembly, a multitude of elves called together from the realms of Rivendell, Lothlórien, Greenwood and Mithlond alike. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…"

Elrond II could barely focus on the King's words. His mind was abuzz with a jumble of thoughts: his daughter was getting married, she would never yield to death, and according to Elrond I, if Mandos' words rang true, as they always had before, she would sooner or later travel to Valinor. Things had never looked brighter.

Then the elven-king's words sliced neatly through his contemplations like a heated knife through butter. "Who has the honor of presenting this woman to be married to this man?"

"We do," the younger half-elf spoke up together with Celebrían, as he returned swiftly to the present.

Thranduil nodded, and began to carry out the same wedding rites that Manwë had years before. He took Arwen and Voronwë's hands into his own and joined them together as he gave a meaningful speech, and afterwards came the lighting of the Unity candles. At long last, the newly-announced husband and wife sealed their everlasting love with a deep and passionate kiss. Elrond I and II applauded perhaps harder than anyone else.

The festivities lasted for days on end – much longer than those of Elrond II and Celebrían had, the elder half-elf recalled with a shiver. But he shunted the memory out of his mind; there was no reason to dwell upon that anymore. And when the time came at last for all the guests to take their leave, Elrond II and his wife bade their daughter a long and loving farewell.

"Promise me you'll visit," Arwen's mother murmured, stroking the new bride's dark hair as it mingled with her own pale silver locks when they embraced.

"Of course I will," she vowed, as a single bittersweet tear slipped down her face.

"Take care of yourself," Elladan advised her solemnly. Then he gave an impish grin. "It's going to be a whole lot quieter at home without you, you know."

"You and Elrohir are _much_ more than able to compensate for that," his sister teased light-heartedly. "Take care of each other."

Both twins nodded, gasping suddenly as their sibling pulled them into a tight embrace. "I can hardly wait to see what kind of uncles the two of you will turn out to be."

Elrond I grinned obliquely at his younger counterpart. "What do you think of that? Could you handle being a grandfather?"

"I'll cross that bridge once I reach it, and not a second before," Elrond II smiled in reply.

----

"That bridge" came into sight nine short years later, when a message from Arwen arrived in Imladris – she was two months pregnant with her first child. The embryo's gender was indeterminate at the moment, but it seemed to be perfectly healthy. And both of the lucky parents-to-be were doing extremely well.

Seven months and a few weeks later, joyous news spread that Arwen had given birth to a happy and healthy baby girl, christened Caranel the Second in fond memory of Elrond I's dear friend. The baby's vivid, fire-colored hair and bright blue eyes, naturally, resembled those of her namesake. Elrond I was forced to engage in a fierce wrestling match with his emotions when he reached that particular statement in the letter he received.

_I wonder if her personality will be at all like her namesake's, _the half-elf thought, sweetly reflecting on the first Caranel. His new granddaughter would surely not be a maidservant, he reasoned, but she might be an exceptional baker. Elrond I pondered this as he prepared to ride to Greenwood with a small group of his kin, for the revelry that would soon begin there.

Elrond II was in a noticeably different state of mind. He'd just become a _grandfather,_ for Eru's sake! He didn't know if he was ready for it at _all._ What if, _what if… _That abhorrent pair of words, the phrase that was the murderer of all confidence, buzzed around his mind like an angry wasp – no, make that a _swarm_ of angry wasps.

"I'm sure you'll be just fine," Elwing reassured her son as they rode down a path that was piled high with drifts of sparkling midwinter snow. "Grandparenting is just like parenting all over again. Trust me, I should know."

The younger elf smirked. "You just made up a word, you know. There's no such word as grandparenting."

"Oh, I know," his mother replied airily. "But if you really think about it, all of the words we use regularly were ultimately made up by someone."

"Good point," Elrond II nodded acceptingly as he nudged his horse onward. "Very good point."

----

Greenwood (or Whitewood, as some jokingly referred to the now snow-laden forest) was packed with excited elves when the group from Rivendell arrived and entered the stony halls that were Thranduil's stronghold. The first elf to greet them at the entrance was the King himself, followed promptly by his son, Prince Legolas. Soon after came Voronwë alongside of Arwen (who, Elrond noticed, had not yet lost all of her baby-fat). In the dark-haired woman's arms was nestled a tiny, redheaded infant girl, who took in the band of guests with wide, excited eyes. A pleased gurgle escaped little Caranel's lips as Arwen handed the child carefully to her grandfather.

Elrond II beamed with joy as he took the little elleth tenderly into his arms. A diminutive hand reached up and swatted a braid of the elf-lord's hair; he laughed quietly as the small fingers tightened on the fine, dark strands and tugged. Caranel II squealed in sheer delight as her grandfather gently tickled her little feet.

The younger half-elf then passed the baby gently to his godfather, who took the wiggling, cooing bundle with slightly unsteady hands. Here he was, staring into a face that was like his dear, long-lost friend born again… Tears of bittersweet reminiscence itched irately at his eyes in a mad scramble for freedom.

"Are you all right, Elrond?" his mother murmured discreetly into his ear.

He nodded once, forcing back his emotions. "I'm fine."

He handed the newborn carefully to Elwing as he spoke, and right on time. An abrupt and powerful tremor wracked his body; the half-elf staggered backwards a little as he swayed and overbalanced, accidentally stepping on the foot of his chief advisor, Erestor. He made a sincere – if hasty – apology, promptly excused himself and darted away, as far from the start of the festivities as he dared. He had a very secret battle to fight.

----

Sinking to his knees in a pool of slush and water, Elrond I ignored the sopping-wet skirts of his robe as they were steeped in the dirty liquid. His body shook in the aftermath of his old enemy's latest attack. He climbed slowly to his feet, his heavy breaths forming clouds of mist about his lips.

The sun sparkled carelessly upon the snow surrounding him, and glinted on the rippling surface of the growing puddle he stood in. His boots were saturated with water; though he couldn't feel the cold, the half-elf was still uncomfortable as he made his way cautiously back to the halls of Greenwood's king, following his own footsteps back the way he had come.

But after no more than a pace or two, he was forced to bend double; his stomach lurched, and he retched painfully onto the ground to one side of the rough path. Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he drew from his pocket, Elrond I carefully kicked some loose snow over his mess and walked on past, wondering dimly why in Arda he was suddenly so ill. Morgoth, for all of his dark powers, had never before stooped to doing anything as crude as invoking queasiness. And there had been something else as well… a vision, so brief he had almost missed it completely…

"Ada?"

Elrond I turned toward the voice, sighing and smiling as Arwen rounded a bend and came hurriedly towards him. Her face was alight with concern as she inquired, "What have you been doing? You're soaking wet!"

The elder half-elf glanced suspiciously this way and that before answering in a low voice, "It was _him,_ Arwen."

The young mother's eyes widened, for she knew exactly what his words meant. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Elrond reassured her. "I managed to hold him off… for now."

----

But the fight and its aftermath were soon blissfully over and done, as all of the elves now present in Greenwood reveled in the elation of the new birth. Friends from all four elven realms reunited again, and good cheer abounded. Feasting, dancing, reminiscing with old friends and (rarely) resting by turns, every soul was caught up in the positively infectious gladness of the occasion.

For the next several days, nearly all anyone spoke about was little Caranel. Elrond I and II were as cheerful as any others, all fears eagerly cast into the misty sea of forgetfulness. The two elves (or so almost everyone else saw them) laughed and joked readily, and no-one was any the wiser (thanks be to the Valar).

But as time soared on, and the celebrations wound down, a minuscule doubt poked up its nose and sniffed at the air. It was a very little worry, but it grew incredibly quickly, and it was lodged deep within the heart of Elrond I. Soon, the doubt's confines would prove too small and fragile to cage it. It wanted to get _out_, to be free to infect the body that the heart belonged to. And it swiftly succeeded.

Elrond I fidgeted fretfully with his handkerchief, twisting and untwisting the rather damp cloth in his sweaty hands. He sat in his nightclothes, on the edge of his bed, unable or just unwilling to attempt sleep. The doubt in him had swelled to mammoth size, and the elder half-elf wondered how on earth he could have forgotten it. He needed someone to talk to, someone who would tell him _exactly_ what he needed to know, however straightforward. He didn't much care for niceties at the moment. All he wanted was the truth.

_You need only ask,_ said Mandos' voice, as the Doomsman swirled ceremoniously into visibility. He held out a hand to hinder Elrond's rise and bow, and the Vala himself sat at his kinsman's side to speak, out loud, but softly.

"You are troubled by the vision you experienced during Morgoth's attack," said Mandos, as if Elrond didn't already know it himself. "I know that you saw the elf called Halanor, and I know the reason why."

"Please tell me," Elrond I nearly begged. "You can do that, can't you?"

The Doomsman paused for a moment before he spoke again. "I can say only that you will meet with him again, a great deal sooner than you think."

"How can that ever be, unless I die?" Elrond wondered aloud. "Halanor is long gone; you claimed his soul centuries – _millennia_ ago."

Silence.

"_Didn't_ you?" the elf went on, adding a measure of urgent force to his voice to shroud his obvious fear.

Whether by his own choice or by some secret command, Mandos did not answer him.

----

"Look at me, Uncle Dan!" squealed a six-year-old Caranel II, from her precarious perch on the railing of Rivendell's main bridge. She balanced awkwardly on one foot, her arms outstretched for steadiness. Her pale green dress billowed out in the warm autumn breeze, threatening to topple the young elleth into the clear, glimmering water several feet below.

"Caranel the Second, get down from there right now! You could fall!" Elladan cried up to her, from where he swam in the river beneath her. "And you don't know how to swim!"

"I'm not gonna fall!" the child replied cheerily, hopping onto her other foot and wobbling dangerously. "See? I'm okay!"

"Your Nana wouldn't want you to be up on top of there, you know," said a matter-of-fact voice from a little ways above Caranel's head. "Listen to Uncle Dan, sweetling."

The girl pouted up at her father, protesting, "I wasn't gonna fall!"

"I know, but you should still listen to your uncle like you do for your Nana and I," replied Voronwë patiently. "Come on down. I'll help you."

Caranel's little shoulders slumped as she hung her fire-haired head. "O- _kay._"

The golden-haired elf lifted his daughter carefully down from the railing, smiling to cheer her up. He sniffed the air approvingly and remarked, "I think I smell our dinner cooking. Let's go and see if the cooks need any help making dessert, all right? I hear they want to make some of those honey-glazed muffins that your great-uncle Elrond enjoys so much," he said, referring to Elrond I.

The elleth's glum demeanor brightened up considerably at these words. "Okay!"

Voronwë laughed as he followed his eager young daughter into the haven. "Don't get too far ahead!"

"Hurry _up,_ Ada!"

----

_Time,_ thought Elrond I as he trod the sun-drenched corridors of Imladris, _is without doubt one of the strangest things in the world. Swift or slow, it is only whatever it chooses to be. It can be a benefit and a hindrance both, depending on its mood. And yet, unfailingly, it is always there._

Indeed, Time had been, and it was, and it would be. Seconds, minutes, hours; days, weeks and months… Years, decades and centuries passed with the rising and falling of the Sun and Moon, preserved in never-fading thread by Vairë's skillful hands. Those tapestries… all, it seemed, that was keeping Elrond alive.

Yes, the elf had inevitably grown very close to the Weaver throughout this lifetime. Even despite the fact that she was virtually his sister-in-law, the Valië was also his savior from whatever fate would await him if he should fade. He could ask no more of her.


	68. Icebound

**Chapter Sixty-Seven: Icebound**

Caranel II smiled to herself, reveling in the warm cascade of sunlight that tumbled down from the bright blue sky and drenched her with a golden radiance. She wandered the halls of her grandfather's haven, smiling at the pure home-like feeling of it all. She had visited Imladris many times before, and she never got tired of walking the same stone corridors. It seemed that with each visit, there was something new for her to discover that had been overlooked a dozen times before. Even at three hundred years old, and well into her adult years, Caranel admitted that she still tended to behave like a little child.

The elleth was jolted abruptly to a most alarming and somewhat painful present. Knotted up in arms and legs that belonged both to her and to someone else, Caranel tumbled to the floor in a heap on top of a figure she soon recognized as her grandfather's godfather – the elf she always referred to as her great-uncle, or simply her uncle. Brushing noses with the breathless, dark-haired elf-lord, the younger of the two tangled relatives flushed a furious shade of scarlet as the pair struggled to free themselves from each other's appendages.

"I'm very sorry, Uncle… I should have been watching my step…"

"Not at all, not at all," Elrond I smiled good-naturedly as he climbed to his feet. "I was a bit distracted myself." He laughed under his breath, and the fire-haired maiden frowned a little at him.

"What's so funny?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting a little.

"Nothing," the elf-lord replied distantly. "I just had a bit of a flashback… this same thing happened to me several thousand years ago, with the very elleth you were named after."

"Really?" Caranel couldn't hold back a chuckle of her own. "What a coincidence!"

"Indeed," her kinsman nodded quietly, the faraway look in his eyes deepening. "I swear, you're turning out to be almost just like her…"

"What was she like?" the elleth wondered out loud. "You've never told me about the first Caranel before."

Elrond I said nothing for a long while, as emotion after emotion broke over his mind like so many silently throbbing waves. Happiness, fear, heartbreak, shock, comfort, more fear, more sorrow, and finally… peace. Drawing a deep breath, the half-elf steeled himself for the account of bliss and tragedy.

Caranel II's eyes were wide as she drank in the tale of a humble maidservant of the long-lost haven of Sirion, who befriended a stranger from Eru-knew-where and remained at his side through the high and low points of living among elves of whom some were friendly, and others not so. The elleth wept as she heard of how her namesake was sent away from her home for nothing but her own safety, only to be brought under the charge of a pitiless Kinslayer, and to succumb eventually to death like a lamb at the slaughter.

Both storyteller and listener were crying as Elrond I completed the narrative. The Caranel of the present day wiped her face with her sleeve, and was silent. It was obvious that she had no idea what to think. But at length she managed a hoarse whisper.

"How old was Caranel when all this happened? She sounded incredibly young, from what you said."

"I never asked her," the half-elf answered, "but she didn't seem to me to be even of age. I would guess that she was hardly twenty, perhaps not even that… she had almost the look of a teenager."

Caranel II nodded, her face slightly downcast. "That poor girl… all those horrible things at her age? And she had her whole life ahead of her! Maedhros must have been insane!"

"You're right," Elrond I nodded. "Somewhat, in any case. But he went totally mad a little while afterward, when…" His voice trailed off to a vague mumble, but at last he drew a breath and concluded, "…after I tried to heal the wound I myself had inflicted upon him. I was warned not to, but by that time I had already gotten too far…"

"That must have been awful," the elleth sympathized. "He never even knew you were just trying to help him."

"To be perfectly sincere with you, dear, I don't think he cared in the least," her kinsman replied soberly. "I don't know what was going through Maedhros' head at that point, but I'm assured it was nothing good. He nearly killed Maglor and myself after my attempt to heal him."

"What did you do?" Caranel voiced her anxious thoughts.

"I cut off Maedhros' other hand, and knocked him unconscious again with a blow to his jaw. Then Maglor and I left with my godson and his brother Elros, and didn't look back."

Caranel couldn't prevent a deep shiver from coursing through her body. She trusted every word her great-uncle spoke. But a distant crash of shattering glass made them both flinch in alarm. Elrond I sighed, annoyed, and muttered to himself. "Those twins of mine… I'll be right back."

He hurried off down the hallway, calling out as he strode briskly along. "Elladan, Elrohir, if you've broken _another_ vase – I _really_ hope it's not the one your _grandmother_ gave me as a _wedding present_…"

"That was me, Elrond," came Celebrían's apologetic voice in answer. "And no, it wasn't my mother's vase. I just dropped a wineglass. Don't worry, I'll clean it up…"

"You haven't hurt yourself, have you?" Elrond asked uneasily.

"No, no, I'm fine. Most of the glass is caught on my dress, but it didn't cut through. And it was empty, so there's not too much of a mess…"

Caranel II smiled as she listened to their conversation, but her train of thought was again cleanly snapped when someone's hand found her shoulder. The elleth looked up and over her shoulder, smiling. "Good afternoon, Ada."

Voronwë smiled back. "Your mother wants to see you for a moment in the gardens."

"Of course," Caranel complied, turning to follow him. Glancing back, she noted that her great-uncle was still apparently helping Celebrian clean up the glass flute she had broken. The elleth lingered for a few moments, in case Elrond I returned; then she strode along at her father's side to where Arwen was waiting.

----

Snow carpeted the valley of Imladris in great, glittering mounds; the river's endless song was now hushed, for the waters had frozen. The chill of the morning passed unnoticed by the elves, whose blood made them all but impervious to the cold. Many of the Eldar spent their time skating on the icy river, pelting each other with snowballs, or other such wintry activities.

Elrond I and Voronwë had eagerly strapped on their skates and joined their kindred on the river, while Elrond II observed from a distance alongside his wife and daughter. The elder half-elf and his son-in-law danced elegantly over the pale blue-green surface of the ice, gliding and spinning, leaping and landing with ever-smooth grace. The other elves all retreated to either side of the ice to watch them. The wind rushed in his ears and the snow dusted his body, but what did he care? The ice was firm; Elrond wasn't worried.

At least, not until he heard the first tiny, ominous _crick._

Elrond I halted abruptly, skidding for a short distance before coming to rest. His golden-haired partner frowned in unease; he had heard the slight creaking as well. So, it seemed, had the others, who were standing very still. A young elleth ventured forward with a clear intent to help the pair, but Elrond nodded silently at her to move back. She did so, slowly and most reluctantly, and the others all backed away as well, off of the river.

"Don't make any sudden motions," the half-elf told his son-in-law quietly and insistently. "Now, very carefully, move toward the northern bank…" The cricking sound had come from behind them, toward the southern bank.

Slowly the two elves slid forth, hardly daring to breathe heavily, lest they put that much more weight upon the ice. Who could tell how thick or thin it was? The bank was a mere two feet away now… they were almost there, almost safe…

The crick turned to a _crack,_ now in front of them. A thin, jagged, dangerous line appeared in the ice, halfway between Elrond I and Voronwë, and their freedom. It was a very long line, and it was also curving toward the stranded kinsmen. A rough half circle formed; the elves instinctively tried to back away, but many more deadly creaks sounded, and the ice behind them soon resembled a reptile's scaly hide. They had nowhere to go.

"Do you think we can jump that?" Voronwë asked fearfully, nodding to the semicircle of a fracture before them.

"We'd need a very long start, which we haven't got," his father-in-law replied grimly. He hated to be the voice of reason. But _someone _had to be that. "No, what we need now is a miracle."

A loud screech sounded not far off, and Voronwë looked immediately to the skies. "How about a flight to freedom?"

Elrond I stared upward attentively. A pair of huge eagles soared toward them, their talons splayed and ready to grasp at something. The birds called out again as they came nearer, and the half-elf felt his heart sink as a sob escaped his throat. "It's not going to work. All of that extra weight, even a second's worth of it, would drag us all straight under…"

Voronwë nodded mutely as he realized his comrade was once again only too correct. But the eagles kept coming. The trapped elves could only watch and wait. Elrond I's thoughts in those horrible, dread-filled moments were comprised of a single echoing word: _No, no, no, no, no…_

He felt a strong pair of sharp claws close over his forearms, and knew it was all over. The eagles' weight was far more than adequate to finish the job that had already been started. In a mêlée of water, ice, torn fabric and flying feathers, elves and eagles were overcome by the frigid river and dragged, struggling and screaming, under the surface. But the thing that happened next was perhaps even more terrible. By no means explicable, the shattered ice on top of the water froze over again in a heartbeat, becoming one smooth, solid sheet of blue-green glass.

----

Pinned firmly against the cold mud of the river bottom, Elrond I could feel his inadequate breath being forced from his lungs, slowly but surely. In his left hand he held Voronwë's wrist in a viselike grasp; his entire right side was pressed against the feathery body of an eagle. The elf could feel the great wings thrashing weakly about, churning the water into a mess of silt.

He himself tried in vain to counteract the weight of the ice that was pushing him down into the muck, pressing upward for all he was worth. But it was nowhere near enough to succeed, and he sank down even deeper, defeated. All hope drained from his heart as the warmth had so rapidly fled from his body. He was trapped, a pathetic prisoner in an ever-shrinking world of cold, wet, airless dark, and he was going to die.

_No,_ rumbled Ulmo's low, familiar voice in his ear. _Your mother's death will not be yours as well. You must fight! Use what you have been given!_

A faint glow pulsing through his tight-closed eyelids screamed that something needed to be seen. Elrond I cracked his eyes open just a little, and saw that Narya's ruby was ablaze with crimson light. And the answer came in the form of a name: _Aulë._

Of _course!_ The half-elf mentally kicked himself for his own ignorance. How could he not have seen it before? He would have to combat the ice with a hearty dose of Fire.

Elrond I dragged his right hand up, flattening his palm against the underside of the ice that held him captive. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he cried out deep inside himself and begged the fires of the world to save him. They leapt to his aid like an attacking regiment on horses, galloping up and upward, banners of orange flame streaming out as swords of lightning were unsheathed. He didn't even need to call the charge.

Instantly the great mass of frozen water began to melt where the half-elf's hand touched it. Elrond pushed harder, moving his hand here and there, until a huge hollow formed. He forced his torso upward to a half-sitting position, straining his arms to reach the ice above his legs. Soon he could move his whole body properly, if only a little.

Then the real work started. Pulling his son-in-law upward with him, Elrond I pressed his whole upper body against the rapidly receding slab of ice, allowing the fires inside him to lunge forth. He was quickly melting a tunnel upward; Voronwë clawed urgently at the ice beside him, and the eagles forced them up from below, butting the elves' heels with their great heads. And all the while Ulmo spoke encouraging words into Elrond I's mind: _You are half-way through… nearly there…_

Almost there, almost free… Elrond echoed the words in his own thoughts as he burrowed ever upward. He could see a circle of sunlight through the thinning slab of ice, which was turning rapidly to slush against his hand… closer it came, and closer…

_YES!_

As his fingers clawed through the final few inches of slush, Elrond I's head finally broke the river's surface. The elf choked on hastily-gulped mouthfuls of cold air as he coughed up warm water. His arm was around Voronwë, who had surfaced at his side; the golden-haired elf was every bit as grateful for life as his father-in-law.

A sudden flurry of water and two swooping shadows overhead told Elrond that the eagles had taken flight; they seemed to be just fine. Elrond I smiled slightly as he watched them soar away; the elf caught his breath at the same time. Turning to his shivering son-in-law, he asked in genuine concern, "Are you all right?"

Voronwë nodded, replying rather breathlessly; his voice was laden with thankfulness and relief. "I'm fine, thanks to you… I'm not sure exactly what you did down there, but I owe you my life because of it."

Elrond didn't quite know what to say to this. "You're welcome."

They made their way carefully to shore, where they were helped up onto the riverbank by dozens of willing hands; every one of the elves who owned those hands were weeping in relief. Arwen, Celebrían and Elrond II were the very nearest to their kinsmen.

"Are you both all right?" cried a near-frantic Arwen, as she flung her arms around both of the dripping wet elves.

Voronwë returned his wife's embrace, assuring her of his well-being, but Elrond I gave a shudder as a weird, lightheaded sensation washed over him. Nonetheless, he shrugged off the others' attempts to help him, speaking in slightly slurred tones as he staggered about a little. "I'm fine, no really… I jus' need to lie down f'r a min…"

Thick clouds of steam arose from the half-elf's unconscious body, lying facedown in the snow.


	69. Take and Give

**Chapter Sixty-Eight: Take and Give**

The greatest shock since the near-drowning of Elrond I and Voronwë came a few months later, in the form of somber words from the mouth of the Doomsman. For no immediately apparent reason, it appeared that Galadriel and Maglor had both fallen asleep serenely the previous evening, yet neither of them had awoken in the morning. It seemed their spirits had departed their bodies completely.

It was a total mystery. The bodies – Elrond shuddered even to think that word – were not moved, and it was made known to the better part of the elves of Lothlórien and Mithlond that the Lord and Lady were no more than indisposed – which was of course a blatant lie. But nothing else could give even a ghost of an explanation.

"How could this have happened?" the elder half-elf cried in disbelief.

"I promise you, I had _nothing_ to do with this," Mandos replied solemnly.

No further words were needed to conform Elrond's fears. "Morgoth."

"We must hold a council," said the Vala sternly. "Go to your room."

----

Moments later, seven Valar, seven Valier and two halves of the same elf were gathered in their habitual council room, all of them talking heatedly among themselves. At Manwë's call for silence, their hush fell like a thick, stifling blanket, covering the room.

"The time has come," said Mandos, meeting the eyes of everyone in the chamber in turn. "I have had foreknowledge of this hour for uncounted Ages. This is the day of Morgoth's final assault upon us. His servants are harkening to his summons and are gathering to him even now in the Outer Void."

Elrond II stood stone-still, and then wondered why he was. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to be terrified or angry. A hot, sick mixture of both boiled deep down in the pit of his stomach, eating steadily away at his insides like acid.

Unnoticed by most of the others, he sneaked backward, to the far wall of the room and to his godfather's weaponry cabinet, opening it without a sound and glancing around inside. He received a slight surprise as what he was looking for, which he hadn't really expected to be there, was level with his eyes. It was Aiglos.

The spear seemed almost to quiver in his grasp as the young half-elf took it down from its hooks, and he heard the familiar voice whisper in his mind. _I have sensed it. My time is near at hand…**your **hand._

Elrond II nodded silently, looking up sharply as the Doomsman's voice cut into his head with an almost painful resolve. The Vala himself was striding forward, his eyes glinting a strange, indifferent grey.

"What do you suggest we do, Elrond?" Mandos demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously as he read the half-elf's thoughts like a book. "He is beyond your reach, a prisoner of the infinite emptiness beyond the Walls of the World."

Elrond II's eyes were frosty and grave as he replied. "Then we'll go there, we'll find him, and I'll kill him."

_NO._

The Voice came from the middle of the cluster of comrades – or at least seemed to. It was a Voice that drained all strength from the elf's limbs and rendered him prostrate on the floor, his body quaking. He could barely lift his head to see what was going on; on either side of him, and all around him, the Valar were all doing exactly the same as he was. But _they_ were bowing.

The Voice spoke again, now accompanied by a great, but gentle Presence. This Presence undoubtedly held ultimate authority, and a fatherly tone was evident as well. Eru spoke to the half-elf alone.

IT IS NOT YOUR TASK TO SLAY MELKOR. IN DUE COURSE, YOUR EFFORTS WILL AID THE ONE WHO WILL. BUT THIS IS NOT THE DAY OF THAT WAR. IT IS ONLY THE PREFACE TO SOMETHING THAT WILL BE FAR GREATER, AND A THOUSAND TIMES AS TERRIBLE.

Elrond II forced his cowering thoughts to cohere. _Yes, I understand._

The Presence of Eru seemed to shift in focus, and Elrond II felt Vána tremble at his side. He moved his right hand slightly closer to her left arm, his fingertips just lightly touching her. She did not move until it appeared that Eru had spoken His piece to her as well, and moved on.

One by one Eru convened with each of the other Valar, who either remained stock-still or nodded mutely in response to whatever He was saying. Some of them, Elrond II noticed, appeared far more shaken than others. But at last, after what seemed an Age, the Presence faded. The company breathed again, and there was no-one who did not stagger or sway as they climbed to their feet – even the steadfast Tulkas. But Mandos was the first person to speak into the fathomless silence.

"We know our duties," he said softly. "Some are graver than others; all are crucial. Some of them can be revealed now; others cannot." He passed a significant glance to Aulë, who nodded once, and snapped his gloved fingers.

Three boxes became visible in his hands: two were the same size, large and cumbersome, and the third was long and narrow. The Smith handed the much larger packages to Elrond I and II, and kept the third for the time being.

Two halves of one elf opened their boxes at the same time; two startled gasps issued from two pairs of slightly parted lips. Their gifts were breastplates, shaped completely of pure, gleaming, silver-hued _mithril_ – it was the hardest metal known to any being of Arda, yet unbelievably light. As Elrond just stared, stunned into silence, Aulë smiled benevolently at him. "Put them on."

The elf wordlessly did as he was asked, each half of him aiding the other in donning the armor over their own clothing. They stood side-by-side, and it looked as though only one of them were simply standing next to a mirror. Mandos nodded once, satisfied, and sent a thought out to someone not present in the room.

_Elwing,_ he murmured, _come to Elrond the First's bedchamber immediately. It is vital that you attend here a matter of dire urgency._

It took a few minutes, but soon enough, the door burst open to admit a breathless Elwing, who fell to her knees (whether in reverence or exhaustion) even before entering the room. The Doomsman strode briskly to her side and helped her upright; she leaned gratefully on his shoulder as he led her forward to stand with the others.

"What is this urgent matter, my lord?" Elwing asked Mandos anxiously.

"You have the task of participating in what we here have gathered to prepare for," replied the Vala solemnly. "A battle is soon to commence beyond the Walls of the World, and it is the verdict of Eru that you shall take part in it, under the guise of another who will have a different, secret and vital duty directly involving your son."

"Who?" The word tumbled unbidden from Elwing's tongue.

"Me," Vairë answered, stepping forward. Her golden eyes glimmered mysteriously in the torchlight as she turned her head toward Elrond II. The half-elf inclined his own head in respect, but could sense something unsettlingly peculiar in her gaze.

He stood quite still as she moved gracefully toward him, holding him gently but firmly by his forearms. She bent her head to look into his eyes, and a shudder crackled through him like lightning. Their faces – their _lips_ – were considerably less than an inch apart. Wasn't Mandos going to do something to intervene? Vairë was his _wife,_ after all…

But all of his thoughts muddled and confused when the Valië spoke.

"Breathe in deeply," she whispered, and pressed her lips to his.

Obediently he slowly inhaled, and Vairë shed her body. He could feel her spirit brushing softly against his mouth, flowing past his lips, into his body… and into his heart. Elrond II gasped for air as the last traces of her unseen essence merged with him, coiling around his soul like a thread. He swayed slightly where he stood, then steadied himself.

He turned to his other half, gazing into his own eyes and noticing a bright flash of gold in the sapphire irises. They were still connected in some way, it seemed. And now he could almost feel the Weaver seating herself comfortably in some secret, safe place deep within him, and setting up her loom.

Mandos gave a single curt nod, and glanced at his younger brother. "Very well… Irmo?"

Lórien strode unperturbedly up to Elwing, returning the gesture politely as she nodded to him. He held out his right hand, with his left one hovering a short distance above it. As he moved his left hand gradually upward, a small shape appeared and began to grow. It took on a form familiar to them all: it was a tiny and perfect, yet slightly translucent facsimile of Vairë.

Elwing's eyebrow lifted slightly, but she remained hushed as the Dream-lord blew gently on the figure in his palm. It glided effortlessly through the air, expanding as it approached Elwing, and it was her own height by the time it collided quite silently with her body.

The change was instant. Elwing's normally chocolate-brown hair adopted a coppery hue, and her pale-blue dress became a deep burgundy, with numerous symbols embroidered in golden thread, positioned randomly across the cloth. Elwing's previously silver-blue eyes now gleamed a bright, vivid gold. Her entire body grew proportionally, and she was soon Vairë's nearly seven-foot height.

Elwing stared hesitantly down at her newly-transformed body, speaking to Mandos in the voice of his wife: "And how am I to join in battle like this? I don't have a fraction of your wife's powers, and I have no weapon…"

"Yes, you do," Aulë remarked. He held out the long, narrow box he had been holding all this time; Elwing took it uncertainly and opened it, and she and her son both gasped.

A sword lay nestled in the box, glittering even in its sheath. Elrond I picked it up warily and drew the blade out. The weapon shone like a firebrand in the light that it caught from the many torches flickering on the walls; strange runes were engraved upon its surface.

"What sword is this?" Elwing breathed in awe.

"It was long ago known as Narsil, before it was broken," Aulë answered her. "Its name is now Andúril, Flame of the West. Bear it well, daughter of Dior Eluchil." He met her gaze and murmured into her mind, _It is my prayer that you will not have to use it._

Elrond's mother nodded, and was exceptionally hesitant as she grasped the sword's hilt in her own hand. "Morgoth would see at once that I am not one of your kindred. Why would Lady Vairë have need of a sword?"

"Not a soul must know that you have a weapon," said Lórien calmly, taking Andúril and gazing meditatively down at it. He sighed and murmured almost to himself, "I have never attempted this before… but so be it." His jaw set in resolution.

He stared hard at the sword in his hands, moving his lips, but not letting his voice escape them. As Elwing, Elrond and Aulë watched in equal silence, Andúril seemed to fade into nothing before their eyes. The Dream-lord at last extended his apparently empty hands to Elwing again, nodding to what wasn't there and saying, "Take it."

The woman warily reached out, lowering her hands toward the Vala's. She flinched back once, just slightly, before appearing to grip the unseen sword's hilt and pick it up. She ran a finger delicately along the empty space where the flat of the blade must have been, and, supposedly lowering the weapon, she reached for the sheath. It must have come over the blade, because it, too, became invisible, or else nonexistent.

Aulë held out a leather belt that had been hidden somewhere in the box, seeking Elwing's nod of assent before buckling the strap about her waist. She clipped the indistinguishable – immaterial? – sword to the belt, which also slowly vanished. Lórien must have known what he was doing!

Reassured extremely by the secreted weapon's weight against her hip, Elwing looked yet again to Mandos. "What now, sire?"

"Now," the Doomsman instructed her firmly, "you must remember not to address me so formally when we are in battle. As far as anyone else knows, you are my wife; Vairë does not acknowledge me as a lord, but as her husband. If you _must_ use my name, then refer to me as Námo."

Elwing nodded, her face becoming even graver as the weight of those words sank into her heart like stones. "Very well… Námo," she said quietly, trying to become accustomed to the flavor of the name on her tongue.

Mandos nodded. "Then we are ready. Please join hands, everyone."

The others moved into a tight ring, each person clasping the hands of those to either side of him or her. Gazing around him at the many faces, reading so many different emotions, Elrond I and II felt their stomachs writhe painfully in anxiety. Some of his kinsfolk were nervous, while others' eyes were cold and impassive. Only Tulkas seemed cheery – not a great shock to any of them – but even his apparent good humor had an edge like a dagger.

But the half-elf soon came to notice something very odd. It gradually occurred to him that he didn't remember ever seeing Nienna fight against Morgoth so far. But the sight of her now, with an eerily unfeeling obscurity in her deep cerulean eyes, was more than enough to send bitter chills racing up and down both of Elrond's spines. When a single, foolhardy droplet dared to creep down her sallow face, the Weeper brushed it away without a word. This was not the time for pity. Compassion was valueless.

The very same thought seemed to resonate like a cold knell through all of their minds.

_So, it is beyond the Walls of the World that the doom of our time will be decided._

Manwë closed his eyes, his lips moving mutely to shape the words of a strange language. An eerie wind seemed to rush through the room, making robes, gowns, tunics and cloaks billow and flap. For the second time in either life, Elrond I squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt a strong sensation of being irresistibly drawn to Eru-knew-where…

…and then it faded, and he opened his eyes to a world of midnight skies and dark water.

To the half-elf's knowledge, he was standing easily upright on the undisturbed surface of an ocean of limitless fathoms of liquid blackness. And a few yards in front of him stood a colossal gate, crafted completely of what appeared to be congealed shadows. The double doors towered to incalculable heights, and stretched on either side to inestimable breadth.

"We are standing at the furthest reaches of the Encircling Seas, and before us now are the Gates of Night," explained Manwë's voice, resonating uncannily in the almost substantial silence. "Now, look…"

Fifteen other pairs of widened eyes obeyed him.

The Gates were creaking open.

The Void opened up before them like a great black maw, ready to swallow them whole. A few paces were all they could take before they stood at the lips of the Abyss. The teeth were waiting for them deep inside. And what must have been the tongue spoke to them in a terrible voice.

**_All hope shall die beyond these doors. Turn back while you still can, or else come face-to-face with your greatest fears. You enter a dream from which there is no waking._**

"So be it," said Manwë softly. "Come forward, everyone."


	70. Into the Dark

**Chapter Sixty-Nine: Into the Dark**

Elwing couldn't hold a deep shiver in check as she stepped forward. Mandos slid his arm around her, drawing her to his side. She frowned at him, rather surprised (not for the first time) to find herself staring directly into his eyes, instead of up into them. The Vala spoke seriously into her mind: _You must **not** let Morgoth know who you truly are. I am assured that the consequences would be severe._

"I understand," Elwing replied in an undertone; and she suddenly wished desperately that she had the ability to speak through her thoughts, as the Valar had. Somehow, voicing her words aloud seemed to make them that much more real to her, that much more terrible.

Mandos spared a moment to squeeze her shoulder, in an action that was both sympathetic and almost fond. Elwing smiled, accepting the gesture, and turned to face the front just as Nienna and Estë crossed the threshold of the Void in a grave pair. The elven woman gave another shiver, but was swift to compose herself. Vairë, she thought, would certainly not reveal her true fears to the Enemy.

Mandos nodded in unspoken approval. _Good. You are learning swiftly. You must appear calm in the face of your fears._

Elwing glanced to her left as Lórien came beside her, laying a kind hand on her shoulder. He sent a tender vision gently into her mind, an image of optimism and reassurance: her husband's star, gleaming above them, pouring light and hope down to the world. Elwing allowed a single brief smile to grace her lips. She did not need to give voice to her thanks, for the Lord of Dreams understood completely.

No further communication passed between the three comrades as they, too, advanced into the very mouth of darkness. And the Gates of Night closed behind them with a deafening, final _boom._

In the infinite black, Varda's light blazed forth like a thousand suns, illuminating all there was to see – which, admittedly, was not much at all. In truth, other than the Valar and the two elves, it was nothing. But soon… soon, there was _something._ It was below them and before them, and just behind them as well. Huge, strange squares of stone, at least ten feet on each side, alternating between white and black, in rows and columns, eight by eight. A vast square composed of sixty-four smaller ones, both light and dark.

A chessboard.

Only one person out of the entire group of kinsfolk knew what was happening, what was at stake. But he stayed silent; he had to. The others would figure it out in time. And they did, and whispered fretfully among themselves. _Chess… it is a chessboard, a game…_

**Indeed, you are correct. It IS a game. And you are all mere pieces.**

By Varda's radiance, the newcomers to the Void suddenly beheld a disheartening sight. Two rows of figures clad in black, with each a blood red symbol on his chest: pieces from a game of chess. There were three Pawns in the foremost row, and behind them stood two Rooks at either end, two Knights, more toward the middle, two Bishops beside them, and, in the very center, the Queen and King.

The three Pawns, the Rooks, Knights and Bishops were all immediately recognized as the nine Nazgûl, whose bloodthirsty reign had ended along with that of the one who had first corrupted them. That "one" stood now in the space of the Queen, or, more appropriately, the right-hand servant of the King. Sauron appeared to have regained at least some of his previous fairness; his face was once again sallow and his hair golden, but the eyes of pale blue were now like the foulest rubies; their only true worth lay in the evil that festered in the brain behind them.

The King figure was the tallest of all: greater, darker and more vast than the brain could grasp. Two pupil-less scarlet eyes leered down at them from on high, in a black-skinned, horribly scarred face; an ugly grin stretched back the purplish lips and bared great yellow teeth, not at all unlike a wolf's fangs. The company of the Valar were staring into the true face of Morgoth himself.

The Dark Lord's voice grated upon their ears as he spoke again, this time to Manwë only. **Are you prepared to play?**

The Wind-lord was unfazed. "First we must don the proper attire."

He snapped his fingers, and his kindred's garments were altered at once. Fabrics of every hue were bleached to a blinding white, and on the front of each person's robe, dress, tunic or breastplate was emblazoned a single large symbol in gold. But unknown to all but one of the others, Manwë applied a secondary layer to Elwing's camouflage; Vairë's likeness, from head to toe, was doubly enforced upon her.

The white-clad warriors gazed wordlessly down at their emblems; there were six different types, some more common than others. The figures were all similar to those that Morgoth and his minions wore, and each Vala and elf bore the symbol of whatever player's space that they occupied on the miniature chessboard which was currently locked in Elrond I's bedside table. Without a word they took up their places, waiting for further instruction.

"Now," said Manwë solemnly, "I am sure we all are aware of the rules of chess, correct?"

There were murmurs of assent from the Valar, Elrond and Elwing; growls and hisses rose from their opponents. Both leaders locked eyes and nodded, and Manwë spoke out again. "Shall we abide by the option which allows Pawns to rise in rank upon reaching the other end of the board?"

Morgoth nodded his great, ugly head and replied, **As you see fit.** It could be beneficial to him as well, the ex-Vala thought with a crafty smile. _Very_ beneficial.

"You appear to be missing five Pawns, Melkor," Varda spoke up coolly, her gaze on the empty spaces in front of Morgoth and his servants. "As loath as I am to say this, our force must not outnumber yours. Both sides of the board must be equal in order for us to begin the 'game'."

**Indeed,** nodded Morgoth. He snarled something in a strange language to someone behind him, and the wraiths to the Dark Lord's left parted in a whisper of fabric, to let a group of figures pass between them. Four of them stood upright, and the fifth stood on four paws.

Flanking three others were two figures that Elrond and Lórien had seen before in dreams: the black-furred wolf, and the ebony-skinned, winged demon. And between them walked a trio that Elrond had never imagined seeing in that horrible place; indeed, a threesome he had never imagined seeing together again. Clad in black, with Pawn symbols emblazoned in garish crimson upon their chests…

Galadriel, Maglor and Halanor.

The Lord of Mithlond and Lady of Lothlórien were both terribly ashen-faced, with tears pouring silently down their already heavily-stained cheeks. Both wore great, long swords in black sheaths at their hips, and helmets of dark iron. Upon seeing the Valar and Elrond opposite them, it seemed that it was all they could do to keep from falling to their knees and pleading earnestly to be forgiven of the crimes they had never executed. But Halanor, the demon and the wolf ignored them, and came into contact with them only to push the unwilling players to their places on the massive chessboard.

Out of the three elves, Halanor was the only one who wore a smile; it was the ugliest that Elrond had ever before seen. The scar on his chin flexed and contorted bizarrely, and his shadowy eyes gleamed with the greatest self-satisfaction. He seemed only too proud to be where he was. Standing in the very centre of the quintuplet, with Galadriel and the demon at his left side and Maglor and the wolf at his right, Halanor smirked sideways at Mandos as if to say contemptuously, "You got me once before, but not this time."

The Doomsman's eyes flashed in rage as he replied straight into the elf's mind: _Do not presume that I do not remember you. When last we met, you were nothing but a snivelling wretch, crouching in a pool of your own urine like an ill-behaved dog. Let me make this perfectly clear: I shall have only the greatest pleasure in watching your defeat._

Morgoth's great nostrils flared as he sniffed unexpectedly at the air, and spoke to Manwë in a voice full of nothing but contempt. **I smell deception. One of your number should not be here.**

There was the very briefest of silences, before Mandos answered him in a voice that had raw cynicism ladled copiously into it. "Well now, you _are_ the perceptive one. None of us truly _belong_ here, of all places. Were you expecting us to make ourselves at home?"

Morgoth had no vocal retort to this; but his eyes narrowed in rage, and he fixed them on the forcibly-expressionless figure of Elwing, who was secretly struggling to maintain her cool composure. She kept her golden eyes impassive; no glimmer of any sentiment would flit across her features. She couldn't afford it to, not when the moment was so crucial.

But the Dark Lord sensed something that no-one else had. Without warning he flung out a hand, sending a great burst of evil energy straight toward Elwing. She had no time even to draw a breath before she was blasted off her feet, actually lifting into the air and flying backwards for fifteen feet at least before landing in a crumpled heap at Aulë's feet, where she lay silent and shuddering.

The Smith immediately knelt to help her, and the woman leaned gratefully on him as she rose unsteadily. Elwing gave herself a very swift and anxious once-over as she climbed to her feet and returned to her place between Lórien and Estë; to her complete surprise, the guise that the Dream-lord had placed upon her was still nearly intact. She still resembled Mandos' wife, but the once-concealed sword was now in plain sight of everyone else.

Most of the black-clad fighters began to mutter and hiss to each other, pointing openly at the now-visible Andúril. Morgoth silenced them all with a raised hand, and snarled out in a voice like a roar of deadly thunder, **_Who are you, woman? Speak!_**

Elwing fought to keep her voice from breaking. "I am Elwing, daughter of Dior Eluchil."

**You dare to flaunt the false likeness of a Valië! Where, then, is the true Vairë?**

"She is elsewhere," said Mandos expressionlessly, before Elwing could reply. "My Halls will need a record of this, will they not?" His indifferent grey eyes glinted like cold steel.

Morgoth seemed to accept the excuse, however reluctantly, and nodded rather resentfully as he growled in acquiescence. **Truly enough. Now let us play, if we are ready.**

"Very well," said Manwë, his eyes draining of sentiment as his jaw set resolutely and his right hand clenched into a tight fist of defiance. He gave his first instruction in a resonant, but weirdly emotionless tone: "Fui, move to the square directly ahead of Yavanna."

The Weeper obeyed him with neither question nor comment, and the game of war began.

Morgoth impassively sent out the wolf in response to Manwë's directive. Back and forth, the two leaders passed out orders without pause, as the empty squares in the middle of the board slowly filled out. The Pawns were strewn about the board, and a few of the higher-ranking 'pieces' had advanced as well. No-one yet had been set upon or defeated in one-on-one combat. But everyone who cared about it knew all too well that that point in time would arrive soon enough.

A wraith Knight was the first player/fighter to be dismissed from the battleground, after being beaten down by Ulmo. The Lord of Waters trod carelessly on the Nazgûl's unfilled robe as the creature's spirit fled from the board. The other warriors of the Void continued with the game, as though nothing of significance had happened.

Two more Nazgûl were adeptly dispatched before the first cruel blow fell upon the White fighters: Nessa was accosted by a wraith Bishop. The Valië and the former human swiftly engaged in a silent and solemn clash. Round and round they moved, circling in a deadly dance, as all of the other players watched them and them alone.

This was not chess as it was widely known; triumph did not fall to the attacking piece by default. This was undeniably the very strangest war… There were _rules._ A conflict was a fair one. This was the _only_ reason that the Dancer refrained from merely bombarding her enemy with a mighty blaze of energy, and why the Nazgûl's blade remained safely inside its sheath. A most unusual code of conduct had been forged there in the deepest darkness.

Nessa had learned a great deal from Tulkas in the many thousands of years they had spent together as husband and wife. The Wrestler had taught her a lot about fighting – not quite her area of expertise, yet she was willing to attempt the new practice. And she had indeed profited from it. Nessa was not quite as skilled with her hands as with her feet, but well enough. There was no need for her to use her Valarin powers now, and there was no need for the Nazgûl to use its own sword. Strength and agility were what they would contest.

The rivals clasped and locked hands tightly, flesh and bone gripping metal gauntlets, and vice-versa. Green-gold eyes met with the depths of a dark cowl, where unseen eyes stared back. Each gave a slight nod; one was more obvious than the other. Then the two separate figures fused into one; they became a single thrashing, tumbling, writhing _thing,_ made all of white skirts and a black robe, shot through with Nessa's light brown hair as it flew out unbound around her head. First the Nazgûl was winning, then the Dancer; then the tables turned again…

Nessa's body seemed to bend and unbend like a ribbon caught up in the wind. Serpentine, she swayed this way and that, limbs coiling and then relaxing. For one breathless moment it seemed as though fortune was truly on her side… _but_…

…one wrong move was all it took. Nessa felt her legs slide backward out from under her, and she fell forward, as Time slowed to a crawl. Seconds passed in inches. The cold and merciless white marble came up to greet her, and the welcome was harsh. Blood trickled from a cut in the Valië's lower lip, and a throbbing bruise purpled her fair cheek. She felt what must have been the Nazgûl's foot pressing down hard in the small of her back, and a hissing voice grazed her ears, rough as sandpaper. _Do you yield?_

Nessa's answer was a single hopeless word, whispered as a frosty tear slipped down her face. "Yes."

The foot was removed from her, and the Dancer shed her body in silence, drifting weakly to a place beyond the board, behind where many of her kinsfolk still stood in their initial places. As she passed beside her husband, she saw that the Wrestler's eyes were full of a helpless anger. His body was tensed, like a viper readying to strike. He moved forward a single square, clearly cursing the rules of chess, which prevented him from rushing forth as he so longed to. The game went on.

Players from each side fought, won and lost. There was neither truce nor stalemate in the individual fights. Gradually each army dwindled: all four of the wolf's legs were snapped by Tulkas; Lórien emerged defeated from a vicious struggle against Sauron; Nienna wept deep in her heart as she routed Maglor in battle; Elrond I swiftly succeeded in setting a wraith ablaze with fire. No-one yet had placed either King in check. Neither Manwë nor Morgoth had yet moved; they stood still, staring each other down as they issued orders to their companions.

Elwing strode forward one square, to find herself at a diagonal to Galadriel. The Lady of Lothlórien was at the advantage; it was her turn to move, but she obviously hesitated. She gazed deeply into her kinswoman's face, her hand halfway to her sword, hovering still in midair. She cringed helplessly as Morgoth's insensitive voice thundered in her ears.

**_What are you waiting for?_** he roared.** Take her down! NOW!**


	71. When Angels Fall

**Chapter Seventy: When Angels Fall**

_Deep within the single soul that bound Elrond's twin hearts, Vairë bent her head over her loom and concentrated upon her duty as she never had before. Always she had woven the happenings of the world as they came to pass, preserving countless strangers' lives in her webs of thread; and now she wove to save a single life, the life of one whom she viewed as a kinsman and friend. The very balance of the earth depended on Elrond's existence in it. She could not fail. She **must** not fail. The fate of the world was in her hands._

_The Weaver of Time shivered as she drew out a skein of thread; the events that were now going on outside all came to her through Elrond's eyes and ears, painting pictures in her own mind's eye…_

Galadriel neither spoke, nor did a thing, except weep. She stood in silence, her right hand still frozen, mere inches from the black leather-bound hilt of her weapon. Her eyes were now tightly shut, and a steady flow of silver tears slipped down in single file from behind the closed lids. Her ebony-clad shoulders quaked visibly with her muted sobs. But at last, when she looked up again, her eyes were suddenly, terribly cold; she spoke four words in the softest and cruelest of whispers as a purely pitiless smile twisted her lips.

"As you wish, Morgoth."

She moved forward, her fingers closing and tightening around the hilt of her sword. She drew it from its sheath at the same time as Elwing drew out Andúril. The two kinswomen crossed blades, meeting each other's eyes for a second – how Elwing forced herself to do so! – and nodded once. The fight began.

The Void sucked all sound from the _clang_ of steel on steel. White and black merged yet again, skirts and hair billowing and whipping about. But it was not as terrible as everyone else certainly thought; for there was calm in the eye of the storm. Galadriel had hatched a plan to spare them both, and it was even now taking wing. What seemed to be a battle to the death was in fact a battle to the _life._

In that instant when the warrior women's eyes had locked, Galadriel had sent a thought to Elwing to inform her of her strategy. The two of them would put up a charade of a violent struggle, but in truth none of them would dare to injure the other greatly. There had to be a few minor cuts and bruises, to keep the ploy convincing. But no swords were aimed for any vital organs.

Galadriel winced in unvoiced sympathy with her comrade as her blade scored a deep gash in Elwing's cheek. Elrond's mother staunchly ignored the throbbing ache and the blood oozing down her cheek, and gave a reassuring smile. Heartened and relieved, the Lady of Lothlórien did not bother to circumvent as Elwing retaliated with a harmless swing to the side of her kinswoman's head, neatly clipping off a stray tress of golden hair.

After minutes that had crept by like hours, Elwing saw her time was right. She purposely stumbled, allowing Galadriel to force her all the way to the ground. She lay prostrate, at her friend's mercy, with the razor-like tip of a sword at the base of her neck. Elwing went compliantly limp, the very image of the acceptance of loss. But, as he stood and watched them, Morgoth was nowhere near to being contented with only this. Leering and laughing in bloodlust, he let out a great bellow like an overexcited bull. **Kill her _now_, then! Finish off what you started!**

Galadriel was motionless, staring voicelessly down at her crushed "opponent". At length she spoke; and it was a single word, laden with all the calm and resolution that could ever be possible, as she moved her sword aside and slowly, tenderly lifted Elwing to her feet.

"No."

The effect could not have been any more drastic if she had yelled. Every other person on and beyond the board went deathly quiet; Elwing's eyes fell shut in apparent submission, and Morgoth's narrowed to two enraged crimson slits. His voice thundered out again, and this time it was a roar of pure wrath. **_WHAT did you say?_**

Galadriel's voice was like stone as she turned toward the towering figure and called up to him, at the same time as she removed her helmet and flung it aside; her gold hair tumbled out in bright liberty from its dark restraints, and her deep blue eyes blazed feverishly with every word she spoke. "I said 'no', Morgoth."

**As I thought,** the Dark Lord replied furiously. **But you can NOT disobey me. You still bear my colors, and you began the game on _my_ side of the board; so you will remain under my power until such time as I see fit to release you… which may not be at all.**

The Lady of Lothlórien was adamant in her defiance. "No matter which side of the board I was on at first, I can most easily get rid of your colors now." As she said this, Galadriel sheathed her sword and unfastened the belt that held it, and discarded those both as well. There was a dull _clunk_ of slightly-cushioned metal on marble as the sword landed on the board a few feet from her.

**But I know that you will not, for the sake of your dignity,** Morgoth growled. **Beneath that rag, you are naked as a newborn child. Do you wish for _them_ to see you exposed to the world? **He gestured to the others all around him, creatures of the Darkness and the Light alike. The Dark Lord's minions hissed and sniggered vilely; Manwë's kindred were cool and taciturn.

Galadriel remained silent; so did everyone else. The black-clad woman clenched her pale hands into fists of fury, and did not relax even when Elwing approached her quietly from behind, and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. But she did turn, and she listened when Elrond's mother spoke in a voice scarcely more than a murmur. "If you madden him any more, Morgoth will slay you where you stand."

_I know,_ Galadriel answered telepathically. _But I couldn't bear to hurt you._ The Lady of Lothlórien wept bitterly as she sent those words. But they both knew there was nothing that Galadriel or anyone could do now – what was past, was past. The game had to go on, for all of their sakes. For the sake of the world.

Elwing was spared the need to answer when Mandos brushed past her, making his move. He passed a thought to her as well: _Get off of the board quickly, before Galadriel's plan is made vain._

The brown-haired woman nodded, unquestioningly hastening to the side of the board that was nearest to her. She skirted the battleground carefully, moving back toward where the white-clothed fighters had started the game from. She stood between Lórien and Nessa to observe the rest of the game, helpless to offer aid to anyone anymore.

_Vairë was constantly torn between rejoicing and weeping as the battle-game continued in all its lethal, methodical chaos. Smiles and tears strove for dominion on her ashen face. Vivid images of the goings-on flashed frenziedly before her mind's eye: Varda won over Sauron in a ferocious collision of the Light and the Darkness; Elrond I defeated Halanor after a terrible attack from the scarred elf; a Nazgûl Rook claimed victory over Yavanna; Mandos completely overwhelmed a Nazgûl Bishop; the black, winged demon mercilessly took Vána down…_

_Her hands fervently worked the loom, her own heart beating in time with the clicks of the device's mechanism, while threads blurred to the vision as they hissed into place. Vairë's palms were damp with perspiration, and her hair was beginning to come loose from the wide, white ribbon that bound it back from her head. She didn't care about any of it; her duty was clear, and she could **not** be distracted. Her time was growing scarce._

Elrond II moved slowly forward one square, feeling every painful thump of his heart. The younger half-elf imagined vaguely that he could hear the subdued pulses as the throbbing organ pushed his ribs repeatedly up against his breastplate. Aiglos was clutched tightly in his right hand, the smooth wood and metal were cool against his bare fingers. He watched as the wraith Pawn twenty feet from his right side almost slithered forth, so that the two of them were a knight's-step apart.

The half-elf looked ahead and to his left, staring gravely up at the strangely white figure of the Doomsman. Mandos returned Elrond's gaze in silence; there was an uncanny cold in the Vala's eyes. The elf knew instinctively that his friend was foreseeing something he did not wish to see or to know, but that would come to pass in spite of the consequences. Mandos' pale hands curled into fists, and his thin eyebrows knitted tightly together as his teeth clenched in resolution and rage. It was his turn to move.

The Doomsman turned slightly, and then stared straight at the creature before him, a good few squares away; the second Nazgûl Knight. Mandos was just out of range of it. But in a smooth motion, he strode forward one square. The wraith was two spaces to his right, and one square behind; the Vala was now at a corner of the chessboard, where a wraith Rook had once stood. Mandos was unnaturally still as he waited for his moment.

The Nazgûl hissed menacingly as it made its move, approaching the Doomsman's square. For an instant they were motionless; then they leapt and clashed.

It was a spectacle Elrond II had watched unfold similarly a dozen times before; light and darkness merging, embracing, and each trying to conquer the other. The Lord of the Dead and an evil undead, forever so distant, came together now in war – not a war to the death, for neither of them could truly die – but a war to the submission of one or the other.

It was over with shocking speed. The wraith flung Mandos viciously to the ground, where he lay without moving, except to shudder uncontrollably. His ashen face was bruised and bloody; one eye was blackened, and his lower lip was swollen. The Vala struggled vainly to lift his head when the Nazgûl snarled and sneered harshly, basking in its achievement. _Do you yield, Doomsman?_

Mandos stared silently up through his remaining good eye, and met the horrified gaze of Elrond II. The half-elf was weeping openly, and his sobs redoubled when the Doomsman gave his passive answer, just before shedding his body. "I yield."

Elrond II didn't bother to hide or suppress his own shiver; the Rook's square, now taken by the wraith, was just ahead and to his left. It was his turn.

_Vairë's pulse quickened, and her fingers began to fumble over the loom. She dragged in a deep, ragged breath to steel herself. She couldn't possibly afford for any slips to happen now… the moment was so close…_

Elrond II stepped diagonally one square forward, striding resolutely out onto the wraith's space; he spared a brief glance for Nienna, who stood on the square beside it. The Nazgûl knew an attack when one faced it, and the undead creature hissed out a warning that the half-elf could not comprehend. Nevertheless, Elrond brandished Aiglos as a sword rasped out of the wraith's sheath.

The two adversaries crossed their weapons for a moment; then Elrond attacked, inwardly thanking Oromë over and over for those nights of training. His mind flashed back to one session in particular: the last one they had had. After a long struggle, Elrond II had at last found himself able to hold the Huntsman at his mercy. Oromë had insisted, after the fact, that he had not knowingly allowed the elf to overcome him. "You are ready," he had said. And that was all.

Yes, that was all… and it was everything. Elrond II had defeated a Vala; the wraith now in front of him was simply no contest. With a skillful flick of the elf's wrist, the poisoned sword was fifteen feet away; ten seconds later the hooded black robe was just a strangely-shaped chunk of ice, which soon shattered into a hundred melting fragments on the black marble as Elrond II cast it carelessly aside. He felt the pride of victory flood through him, along with something else… _power._

He stared downward in awe as the symbol on his breastplate shimmered and changed. It grew larger and taller; three square protrusions jutted out from its flattened top. The Pawn had become a Rook. Not only that; Elrond felt as though he, too, had changed somehow. A strange new awareness spread like wildfire through his heart and mind…

…_Vairë wove carefully onward, her newest tapestry nearing completion inch by inch. She smiled in pride as Elrond II rose to take her husband's place…_

Elrond gripped Aiglos all the more tightly as he turned about, obeying Manwë's voice in his mind. He couldn't help but smile; this was too good to be true. He was two rows away from being four squares abreast from Morgoth, who was encircled by a handful of other players: Valar and others. A step to the left, to the right, diagonal-right or straight forward would bring him into Varda's way; a movement backward, diagonal or not, would leave him entirely vulnerable to Oromë. A diagonal-left move would bring him within range of Nienna. And once the half-elf made his own move…

Elrond savored the thought as he crossed the wide squares, black to white to black. At the third square, the elf turned to face his right, and smirked up into the livid face of Morgoth as he called out just one word.

"Checkmate."

There was a mental shiver in his mind as the other white-clothed warriors whispered their congratulations. Elrond II smiled and replied courteously, but he felt the back of his neck prickle. It couldn't be just as painless as that. There had to be some sort of catch, a trap. Morgoth would never give up without a fight, he knew that much. He waited, as the Dark Lord folded his arms across his massive chest and finally spoke.

**A game well played, no doubt, **he said haughtily. **But it is not over yet. Take up your spear and come forth.**

Elrond did so, and as he strode forward he became suddenly, entirely aware of every beat of his heart. If he listened hard enough, he imagined he could almost make out a strange staccato clicking mingled with the throbs of his pulse. He allowed himself a brief smile at the notion that Vairë was still working steadily away somewhere within him, and then he was standing before Morgoth.

_Vairë shuddered as she carefully trimmed away the frayed threads on the bottom edge of her finished tapestry, and started anew on the next…_

As Elrond II met those cold crimson eyes, glaring down from nearly a hundred feet above him, he didn't know just what to think at first. But two and two soon came together. Here was his enemy. Here was a weapon. Aiglos, say hello to Morgoth. Morgoth, meet Aiglos. A grin found its way onto his lips, and he let it sit there for a while, until the ex-Vala gave a vicious snarl.

**You have _nothing_ to smile about!**

"Oh, I don't know about that," said the young half-elf airily, still wearing the same bland smirk. "I find this whole thing quite amusing, really. Every bit of it. I've spent my whole life fighting you to save my own skin. You shouldn't fret about me, though. Why in Arda should such a huge, dark, beaten-down evil wretch worry about little me? I'm only an elf. A little stone on the big, sandy beach of the universe. You should be saving your precious powers instead of frittering them away on me. Why not just leave me alone? Don't waste your energy. You're in enough pain."

**What makes you think I am in pain? **Morgoth growled. **And I _never_ go down without a fight.**

"Good," Elrond II replied in a deadly cold whisper. "Neither do I."


	72. Last Stand

**Chapter Seventy-One: Last Stand**

The half-elf waited calmly as Morgoth glared balefully down at him, lowering his hands to his sides. The huge right hand reached for something Elrond II couldn't see at first, but he could a brief moment later. It was an immense hammer, many times larger than Elrond himself. The elf summoned its name from a blurred, distant memory: Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld.

Elrond II felt Aiglos quiver slightly in his grip. The elf's heart skipped as he realized the true weight of his situation: he was standing in the Void Beyond the World, clad in armor crafted by Aulë; Vairë was within him, working to save his soul, and Elrond was gripping the spear of an elven King as he stared down the Dark Lord himself. But even the friends who surrounded him now could not aid him. With a seven-foot Icicle and the guidance of the Huntsman, Elrond II had to fight Morgoth… and he had to **_win,_** for his own sake, and the world's.

_Vairë **had** to keep weaving, for Elrond's sake, and the world's. Her damp fingers slipped over the loom's mechanism, and she gasped in despair as some threads became tangled. Frantically she tore at them, even as something in her mind whispered at her to be calm._

_The Valië dutifully moved her hands a bit, drew in a few slow breaths, and again started to try and untangle the threads. But this time, her movements were slow and careful. She sighed in fathomless relief as the fine strands unraveled, leaving her work unscathed and ready for her to continue. She wove on inch by inch…_

"Let's get this over with," Elrond murmured half to himself.

**My thoughts exactly,** nodded the Dark Lord, as his fingers – every one of them as broad as Elrond's leg – clenched on Grond's handle. His crimson eyes burned with frenzy and self-confidence; Morgoth was in no doubt that he would be the one to prevail. How could it be any other way? His opponent was so small, his body would snap like a dry twig after just one blow. This would be only too easy.

Elrond II heard the hammer shriek through the air before he saw it. He leapt to the side as it smashed into the marble mere inches from his foot, leaving a large crater and raising a cloud of dust and rubble. Scrambling to get to his feet, the elf ducked between Morgoth's legs, which were not unlike the trunks of two great black trees. One of them bore a great gash on the shin, which had obviously not healed properly; and it must have been causing the former Vala a great amount of pain. Elrond allowed himself a single satisfied smile at the thought.

"Have you never heard of the phrase 'pick on someone your own size'?" he shouted up to his opponent.

**I have, **Morgoth replied, contempt oozing from his voice as he hefted his weapon again. **Move away from my foot, and perhaps we can work something out.**

Elrond complied, stepping out to stand before the Dark Lord again. He watched in silence as Morgoth's massive form began to shrink, dwindling from almost a hundred feet down to eighty… sixty… forty… twenty… and halting at just over six feet tall. The great war-hammer had shrunk as well, to fit neatly in the ex-Vala's hand. Morgoth now glared right into his adversary's eyes. **Now, shall we carry on?**

The half-elf nodded, his fingers tightening on Aiglos' smooth, cool shaft. The spear gave a second queer shiver, and Elrond stared impassively back into Morgoth's scarred face. A cold tremor ran through the elf's body, as though his insides were being filled up with ice water; this time the opponents were considerably better matched. But Morgoth glanced down at his hammer with an expression of slight disapproval; he shrugged one muscular shoulder and tossed the thing aside.

With a motion of the ex-Vala's wrist, a long, black spear appeared in his hand. Its eight-foot shaft gleamed like dark iron, its point like a shard of obsidian. It stood a foot taller than Aiglos, and a hundred times as dark and menacing. Morgoth and Elrond II both held out their spears, so that the two shafts formed a large X in-between them. Now they stood on (vaguely) more even ground.

Morgoth made the first move, and lunged right for Elrond's throat with his spear. The elf skillfully deflected the blow, holding Aiglos horizontally and using it as he would a staff. The two fighters ducked, darted and wove back and forth, spinning, sidestepping, striking and blocking by turns. Varda, Oromë and Nienna looked on in helpless silence. They had done all that they could. It was up to Elrond II and Vairë now.

Elrond utilized every method he could think of to try and lessen the horror of his state of affairs. He tried to imagine that this was only another practice session with Oromë, not a struggle to the death with the Lord of the Void… it didn't matter if he stumbled, he could just get right back up and keep on fighting…

But this approach was not nearly as effective as he had hoped. Deep in his heart he knew full well that this was not a practice round, nor was it a game. It was _war,_ and to stumble was to fall and not to rise again. His life, and the fate of the world were at stake. The half-elf had **_everything_** to lose.

Red and black blood generously splattered the ebony and ivory squares of the chessboard. Both elf and ex-Vala were breathing heavily and bleeding freely. The scar on Morgoth's face had been reopened, and was flowing with dark liquid; Elrond's once-spotless clothes were ripped and spotted with crimson. The Dark Lord was half-blinded by his own blood, while his rival stood shakily on a sprained ankle.

**You will _never_ win,** Morgoth growled, his good eye blazing with the rawest hatred. **This is MY world. I have the power here. You are nothing but a thorn beneath my skin.**

Elrond II spat blood as he snarled back in answer, "As long as the Valar breathe, you will _never_ have mastery over me!"

**We will see,** the Dark Lord hissed in a voice like acid. **Do you really think you can save yourself now? No-one can help you. You shall be MINE, as you were always doomed to be.**

"Doomed?" Elrond repeated softly. "No, Morgoth. I happen to know a thing or two about doom. After living with Lord Mandos for six thousand years, well, who wouldn't? I may not know exactly where my fate will lead, but I know for a fact that it doesn't end here!"

_Something along those lines was echoing through Vairë's mind as she continued with her duty of salvation, yet the message was slightly altered. Elrond's fate **must** not end here in the Void. It was her task to make sure that it didn't. _

Elrond II was lying through his teeth. He didn't know at all where his fate would lead, or whether it would have him slain in the darkness. But he couldn't let Morgoth know of his uncertainty, or it would surely be his downfall. He set his jaw, wobbling noticeably on his injured ankle, and tried hard to brace himself for the next inevitable assault.

Panting like a bellows, Morgoth lumbered forward yet again. Elrond II flung his body to the side as the black spear descended like a reaper's scythe, shrieking as it hewed the air. The half-elf wasn't fast enough to escape injury; he cried out in anguish as the spearpoint plunged into his bad leg, just above the swollen ankle, pinning him to the stone beneath. Trapped, Elrond could only lean backward, grope in the darkness behind him for Aiglos' shaft and pray for a miracle. He could hear the voice of the spear, soft yet insistent: _I am_ _here. It is nearly my time. I must be what I am. Only you can will it so. _

_Vairë wept bitterly as she wove on and onward, her tears beading like drops of dew upon the still-unwoven threads of her tapestry. But she toiled still through the mist of her grief; the twelfth hour was nearing. The loom counted off seconds one by one: **tick, tick, tick…**_

_But all at once there came a great jolt, a tremor building up from somewhere the Weaver couldn't discern. Vairë clutched the levers that worked the loom as though they were her life. Eru knew that they truly held someone else's. She forced herself to continue working even through the chaos erupting all around her. Elrond's soul, his destiny, the world – all of that hung in the balance._

Elrond II would never have an adequate explanation for what happened next. His battered body began convulsing wildly, limbs thrashing and flailing, as though he was in the midst of a seizure. His breath came in gasps, not quite sobs, and his eyes were wide and staring. As everyone around him – even Morgoth – watched in spellbound fascination, an unclear shimmering burgundy haze rose from Elrond's body and began to take on a definite form.

The figure of a tall woman with pale skin, copper-colored hair and a wine-red dress came into sight just above the elf, and as she became fully corporeal, she rolled to Elrond's left side and lay limply. Elrond II's spasms ceased in that breathless time. He lay gasping for air, trembling, and gazing up into the astonished, enraged face of the Dark Lord.

**So,** he thundered in fury, **_this_ is where she was hiding!**

"I _did _say she was elsewhere," Mandos' calm voice spoke up from several feet away. The Doomsman had a vaguely bemused expression (the effect of which was rather diminished by his injuries), his eyebrows slightly elevated and his mouth a thin, straight line. He was rather pushing his luck, Elrond II thought to himself. But he remained tacit until Morgoth rounded on him again.

**And how did you let her in? With a _kiss?_ That does sound interesting… let ME try!**

Before the elf could make a move to impede his enemy, Morgoth had grabbed him by the shoulders and was leaning toward his face. Elrond choked on the stench of the ex-Vala's blood and breath. Morgoth leered viciously at his revolted, terrified victim as he pressed his gory lips against Elrond II's mouth.

The elf writhed and twisted desperately, to no advantage. Morgoth's will to dominate and destroy was just as strong as Elrond's resolve to survive and escape. But the half-elf still choked and gagged upon his foe's blood as it dripped into his mouth, onto his tongue and down his throat.

But what had been most feared and expected… never happened. There was no relocation of a spirit into another body. Nothing of significance occurred at all, in fact.

Morgoth and Elrond both willingly tore their mouths away from each other, coughing and spitting in disgust. The elf was the first to speak, in a hoarse voice that was saturated with repulsion and disbelief. "That… had to be the very most… disgusting, and not to mention unsuccessful… attempt at possession I have _ever_ seen. I can _not_ believe you actually _did_ that!"

**Neither can I, trust me,** the Dark Lord growled. **Now, where were we?**

A spark of inspiration kindled a desperate flame in Elrond's mind. It was a long shot, this idea of his, and more than foolhardy, but he was also more than willing to chance it…

"Well now, weren't you just about to… surrender?" he ventured, a crazy smile finding its way onto his features. "Hmmm?"

Morgoth gave a sardonic laugh, his good eye glinting dangerously. **I think not. We will continue fighting as before.**

"Oh, come now," Elrond II wheedled, grinning madly to mask his pain as waves of pure, hot agony surged from his wounds. He reached subtly over to his right side as he spoke. "You wouldn't strike an elf when he's down, now, would you? It, heh, wouldn't be very decent…" A feeble titter died in his throat as Morgoth crouched down and leaned toward him.

**Such a pity I'm not known for my decency, hmm? **he whispered.

"True enough," the half-elf nodded, his grin slipping to a half-grimace. "Well, I suppose I could be worse off…" His right hand gripped wood and metal. At a thought, both frosted over.

**How could you _possibly_ be worse off? **the Dark Lord sneered.

Elrond's eyes gleamed with a weird light as he replied, "You could be a whole lot farther away."

The elf struck like a cobra with just a single icy fang, driving Aiglos deep into Morgoth's belly. The ex-Vala stared down in astonishment at his own blood, pouring forth in a dark deluge, then up again into Elrond II's smirking face. Morgoth slowly straightened up and staggered backward, and everyone could now clearly see the seven-foot icicle protruding from his abdomen. Aiglos had now truly become what he had always been.

**How… **the ex-Vala gasped, his good eye wide with shock. **How did you best me?**

"Ah-_ha,_" said Elrond II, his triumphant smirk back in place. "So I've bested you, and you admit to it. Do you yield?"

Morgoth's rejoinder was an extremely painful-seeming snarl, gritted out through tightly-clenched teeth as, in an astonishingly civil gesture, he wrenched his spear out of Elrond's leg and held it in his own hand. **Take your kinsfolk and get out of my Void!**

As his opponent fled the board in a howl of flame, the younger half-elf sagged backwards a little and smiled weakly as his already-diminished strength began to lessen even further, and the pain of all his many wounds broke over him with their full potency. "I'll take that as a yes."

But, Elrond thought, closing his eyes, maybe the "civil gesture" hadn't been so thoughtful of the Dark Lord after all. Without the spear stuck in the dreadful wound, his leg was free to bleed profusely. And it acted upon that opportunity with a will.

A flurry of pale grey and a strong perfume of lavender told him that Estë was above him, standing just beyond his line of sight. He turned his head to the right, looking up into her pale purple eyes, which were glistening with tears of sympathy.

Without a word she bent over him, reaching forth to take care of the worst of his injuries, but she halted when the elf sent out a feeble thought to her: _I believe Lady Vairë is more in need of your aid than I am at this point in time._ He nodded weakly in the direction of the Weaver, who was now stirring slightly as she slowly came back to consciousness.

The Healer obediently moved a little closer to her sister-in-law, who tried and failed to sit up. Estë placed a hand on her shoulder, speaking softly to her in what must have been the language of the Valar, for Elrond II couldn't understand a word of what they were saying. He was soon quite distracted, however, as his mother and his elder half rushed to his side. Or rather, Elwing held Elrond I up as they moved very carefully to his side.

Elrond II saw his own wounds duplicated on his elder half's body, and felt as if he might vomit. Elwing had wrapped a strip of cloth from her own dress around the gash in Elrond I's leg, but that was stained a vivid, damp red. Elrond II carefully embraced his mother as she drew near enough to him, and their earnest tears mingled.

Elwing held her son closely to her as Estë, having done all she could for Vairë, moved on to her next patient. Elrond I and II both stiffened and hissed in simultaneous pain, despite the Valië's extremely gentle touch. But in a matter of moments they were wholly healed, and able to stand unaided.

As Estë moved on to tend to the many other wounded warriors, some of those who were lucky enough to be unhurt approached the half-elf. Nienna folded both of Elrond's halves tenderly in an embrace as soon as they were within arm's reach, and Elrond II graciously allowed her to cry on his shoulder. The elf forced himself to smile wordlessly at Oromë's congratulations, and nodded solemnly when Manwë and Varda expressed their feelings to him.

Elrond II turned to look behind him as Elrond I tapped his shoulder; both halves of the elf gazed sorrowfully at the two black-clothed figures who were approaching now; a golden-haired lady alongside a darker-haired lord. There was still one more wrong to right here.


	73. Mending

**Chapter Seventy-Two: Mending**

Galadriel and Maglor came striding slowly across the huge, near-empty chessboard, both crying earnestly, with their heads bowed in shame. Their clothes visibly sported symbols of vivid scarlet, but as the white-clad watchers looked on, the black and red fabric slowly lightened to other hues. Soon both elven rulers wore plain off-white nightclothes, every bit as torn and blood-spattered as the robe and gown had been. As they came within a few feet of the Valar, the lord and lady fell reverently to their knees on the pale stone below then, daring to look up only when Mandos placed his hands kindly upon their shoulders.

"You mean to ask for forgiveness," he said, declaring what was truly in their hearts, "but you do not require it. Neither of you have committed any crime…" (Maglor shuddered at those words, but remained astutely soundless) "…and so you need not be responsible for another's sins. But I _will_ give you that which you most desire and deserve: freedom from this shadow. Morgoth shall never again hold sway over you."

The two humble elves were silent, trembling visibly with sobs of relief. The Doomsman extended one hand to each, and pulled them gently to their feet, where they stood hushed and submissive before him. They anxiously wiped the tears from their faces, and nodded in unspoken thanks as Estë stepped forward to tend to their injuries. The Healer smiled in compassionate insight of their stillness as she carried out her tasks quickly and diligently.

Once the two elves were nursed to the best of Estë's ability, Elrond I and II came warily up to them, limping a little as they walked (for, alas, even Estë could not do a thing about that), and supporting Vairë between them. The elder of the two halves wrapped his arms cautiously around Maglor in a caring, brotherly embrace, but was most startled when his kinsman's body, which had until that point appeared to be completely solid, turned out to be intangible. Elrond I's arms passed straight through the other elf's suddenly-translucent chest, and left him bewildered and loosely hugging himself.

"What in the world…?" the half-elf frowned, lowering his arms and staring at them.

Concerned, Galadriel came forth to investigate this. But when the same odd phenomenon occurred again, no-one was any the wiser, except maybe Lórien. He gave them all smiles of reassurance, and explained this strangeness to them calmly and logically.

"Galadriel and Maglor are only here in _spirit,_ you must understand, whereas you, Elrond, are here in body – or rather, bodies," he said, as if this was only the most obvious thing in the world. "The will of Morgoth must have given them corporeal bodies for as long as the battle would last. Now that his grip on them has been broken, they are insubstantial once again."

"That does make sense," Elrond I nodded. "But how are they going to get out of here, if it was Morgoth who brought them here in the first place?"

"I will return them safely to their bodies," the Dream-lord answered. "Being the Giver of Dreams as well as a Master of Spirits does come in handy. And when you are safe in your bodies again," he smiled benignly to the two incorporeal elves, "you will have only vague memories of this, as of a dream half-forgotten upon waking. To erase your reminiscences entirely would prove to be extremely dangerous. Also, I will have to take you back one at a time; even I can't be in two places at once," he laughed. The elves smiled rather feebly.

Fading to translucency as he slid effortlessly into the spirit world, Lórien politely offered Galadriel his hand, and she took it with a courteous nod. Together they totally faded from sight, and Maglor turned to face Elrond I and II, smiling wryly as he clapped his comrade on the shoulder.

"Is there something you haven't been telling me for six thousand years? Some long-kept secret, hmm?"

"Maybe it won't be once we all get back to Arda," Elrond II told him, just as Lórien came back into view, unaccompanied now. The lord of Mithlond gratefully grasped the Vala's hand, and called back to his friend before he, too, returned to his waiting body. "I'll hold you to your word, mark me."

"You may consider yourself marked," the elder half-elf replied, grinning for the first time in a long while. But the smile gradually faded from his lips as Maglor did from his vision. Heaving a sigh, he turned to his godson. "Frankly, I'm amazed he never asked about that in all this time."

"Yes, I _wonder_ why?" came Lórien's laughing voice from beside them. The silver-haired Vala's eyes were twinkling with a cheeriness that blatantly denied the fact that a horrific battle had just occurred. But he soon sobered considerably when Mandos approached him from the rear and tapped his shoulder lightly.

The Doomsman nodded in the direction of the other Valar, who were all clustered before where the Gates of Night stood, shut and virtually invisible, were it not for Varda's glow. The small group slowly made their way toward the large one; they merged just as a ray of greyish half-light emerged from the widening gap between the slowly-opening doors. As they swung noiselessly inward, the crowd backed up slightly, then strode forward in lines two abreast. Scarcely a word was exchanged, out loud or otherwise. The world awaited.

----

"You know," said Maglor, shaking his head but smiling as he sipped at his mug of hot, steaming tea, "if I trusted you any less, I don't think I'd believe a word of that story. You two are the _same person._ Unbelievable."

"That's nearly exactly what Celebrían said when I first told her," Elrond II laughed. "And even I didn't believe it right away when Elrond the First told me."

"You needed to be told?" the lord of Mithlond smirked, leaning over to prod the faltering embers in the hearth back to life.

"Of course he did," Elrond I retorted. "He grew up thinking I was his godfather, until just after he turned sixteen. Now you're one of a handful of people, other than the Valar, who know my – _our,_ rather – true identity. And don't get so bothered," he added warningly. "I was told specifically by Lord Mandos to tell these chosen few about me. But I should say, _most _of the chosen few. Mandos himself told my mother and father, and Galadriel found it out on her own. Elrond the Second told Celebrían."

"Who are the others?" Maglor inquired curiously.

Elrond II burrowed a bit deeper into the cushions of his overstuffed armchair and counted the aforesaid elves off on his fingers as he named them all aloud. "Celeborn, my daughter Arwen, Gil-galad, and now you."

"Well, I can understand you telling your family," Maglor nodded. "But why tell Gil-galad and not me? I've known you ever since you were four!"

"So had Gil-galad," Elrond I replied soberly. "But really, he was already fairly suspicious about me when he was finally told. What with the Valar waking all about the haven, right under his nose…"

"And everyone else's," the son of Fëanor added, a smirk making his lip twitch. "Besides that, now I come to think of it, we're relatives too! I'm Galadriel's cousin, and therefore Celebrían's cousin-once-removed, and you're Celebrían's husband; that would make you my…"

"…cousin-once-removed-in-law?" Elrond II sniggered. "There's a mouthful for you!"

"There must be a simpler expression for that," Elrond I smiled. "But you do have a point, Maglor. And now _I_ come to think of it, there's really no point in arguing why I didn't tell you all of this before, because it hardly matters now. You know my darkest and best-kept secret, and that's that. End of story."

"Mm-hmm." Maglor grinned and drained his mug in one swallow. "Is there anything else you've been keeping from me? Seriously, now…"

----

Snow carpeted Imladris with a thin, icy layer of white, as winter said its last farewells and made way for spring to take its place. Budding flowers would soon yawn tiredly open and stretch out leafy arms to the sunlight. The river would flow again, laughing in gladness as it tumbled down to the sea. But for now, at least, the valley was quiet and asleep beneath an inky, star-dusted sky; and that included its inhabitants.

Elrond II turned over in a deep sleep, unconsciously pulling the bedspread up to his chin. His open eyes saw nothing, glazed over with slumber as they were. But they appeared to be looking right at a tiny figure who was stretched out on the pillow between Elrond and his also-sleeping wife; none other than the tiny replica of Lórien, who for years had been confined to a makeshift chessboard in a bedside table. Now that the worst of the war was over, the minute Dream-lord and all of his similarly-sized companions were free to roam around as they wished, as cautiously as possible. But the majority of them chose to linger loyally near Elrond I or II, or else with the Valar.

The miniature Dream-lord meandered idly around the pillow for a while, obviously quite bored, until an extremely-undersized Valië leapt gracefully down from her lofty perch on the bedpost. The diminutive figure of Estë greeted her husband with a warm hug, even as she perfumed the air around her with the fragrance of lavender, much like the real Healer would have, had she been present then. The tiny couple glanced sideways into the face of the still-sleeping Elrond II, and smiled to themselves.

Both of them looked up as an actual Vala now entered the room, his garments blending in with the thick gloom, and his pale skin seeming almost to glow in the moonlight. Mandos swept softly across the room to Elrond II's bedside, smiling lovingly down at the sleeping elf and reaching down to stroke his cheek gently. But a sad sigh passed the Doomsman's lips as his fingers halted half an inch away from Elrond's skin. Did he dare even to think of giving such a loving gesture? It was Irmo whom Elrond loved that much more deeply, not _him…_ never him.

_But I **do** love you,_ Mandos thought, staring down at his friend through tear-blurred eyes. _I always have. _Icy beads of saline water landed softly on the slumbering elf-lord's moonlit face. Elrond II did not stir, even when little Lórien clambered up onto his cheek and stood gazing into one wide, glassy blue eye. The tiny figure of Estë followed him, grasping her husband's microscopic hand gently in her own. Mandos sighed again, and wished with all his heart that the genuine Estë and Lórien were here.

But those real Valar were elsewhere, tending to Vairë. Even weeks after that terrible war, the Weaver had never truly recovered; she ate little and rested often, and Aulë had kindly offered to take up her customary task of weaving Time, as the Valië was still unsettlingly weak. The Smith was aided as well by Mandos and Lórien; the Doomsman would tell of an event to be recorded, and the Dream-giver would then send Aulë a vision of just what he was to weave. In this way, they made up for the time Vairë would have lost otherwise.

Mandos sighed as he was brought gently back to the present. Giving one last, long look to the peacefully oblivious Elrond, whose face still glistened with the Vala's tears, he faded quietly into the shadows around him and was gone without a word. He had to visit Vairë.

Rematerializing in a chamber some distance down the corridor from Elrond II's bedroom, the Doomsman drew in a deep breath full of the scent of lavender. He could taste it when he breathed through his mouth. Glancing silently around the room while his eyes adjusted to the minor alteration in the amount of light present, Mandos cursed the sharp tapping of his boots on the stone floor as he walked forward. Across the room, two figures who had been bending over someone lying quite still in a bed between them glanced up hastily.

"Námo," sighed the figure to the left – Lórien. "You startled us."

"How are you?" the figure to the right – Estë – asked the Doomsman in obvious concern, as she beckoned him forward with a nod of her head.

"I have been better," Mandos replied softly, his eyes glimmering deep blue in his sorrow. He moved anxiously to Vairë's bedside in a whisper of silk, letting out his bated breath in a soft hiss as he gazed down into his wife's still face. The Weaver looked so unbelievably pale in the moonlight, so still and frozen. Her once-bright hair now lay lifeless and dull, strewn out across the pillows. It was as though she were something hewn of marble, not a living woman…

Her hands, which had once been so clever and agile as she worked her loom, now lay like large, lifeless white spiders on the coverlet, which was every bit as sallow as she. Mandos felt hot tears sear his eyes as he clasped one icy hand in his own, stroking it tenderly with his long fingers. Vairë's hands were never, _never_ meant to be like this. Not like his.

But even in the deepest fathoms of Mandos' black despair, a single small spark fought to keep burning. He knew what would become of Vairë. He knew, somehow, that she would live. Wordlessly the Doomsman shut his eyes, thanking Eru for his gift of omniscience as he had not for too long a time. As he opened his eyes again, he saw that his wife had done the same.

Mandos' face at once relaxed into a smile, and his dark irises glimmered a blue-green hue of mingled happiness and relief when he saw Vairë's golden eyes meet his. Although her hand was still icy, the Doomsman was more concerned now with her reaction to him. He spoke to her in a gentle murmur. "I am sorry if I woke you."

"Not at all," the Weaver replied, in the meager whisper that was all she could manage. "It was so good of you to come…" She attempted to sit up, but her kinsfolk tenderly pushed her back down onto her pillows.

"Lie still," Estë told her soothingly. "You must not overexert yourself."

"You have been telling me little else for the past two months," Vairë responded wearily. But she submissively let her friends and kindred have their own way. Turning to Mandos, she told him softly and earnestly, "I wish to hear nothing more than the truth, Námo. Will I ever truly be well again?"

The Doomsman's eyes shone with a radiance of clear gladness. "You will indeed be well. By the time the first _meril_ blooms, you will be able to walk again without aid; within the week, you shall go on with your task as the Weaver of Time, with the assistance of Aulë. And gradually you will become just as independent in that as you once were."

Vairë smiled gratefully up at her husband. "Thank you, Námo."

Now, the Weaver reasoned, the first logical thing to do was to follow her family's advice, and wait patiently for the blossoming of the first rose of spring.

----

Time paced on, as ever it had and would, and the sun broke the last of Winter's cold grip. The river sang, the grass and trees awoke, and the flowers poked up delicate green heads to a bright sky the color of forget-me-nots. Wounds healed, though far too slowly for the contentment of some. Vairë grew gradually stronger under the care of her kinfolk; she ate more and slept a little less, and was soon able to take her first few shaky steps, leaning on her husband's strong arm all the while. She never stopped hoping that the first rose would soon come to bloom.

And blossom the rose did, and that same day Mandos moved just beyond his wife's reach and left her standing – and walking – quite steadily on her own, precisely as he had long ago predicted. Five days later, a most self-conscious Vairë sat down before her loom and smiled as Aulë directed her hands gently across its mechanisms, praising her progress and ever-patiently correcting her errors. Everything, it seemed, was returning slowly to place. Life went on.


	74. Westward and On

**Chapter Seventy-Three: Westward and On**

"Elrond, wake up!"

Elrond I stirred, blinking as consciousness washed over him. His younger self was calling to him, from quite close as it sounded. As his vision cleared he frowned at Elrond II, who was standing rather anxiously at the foot of his bed.

"Any particular reason why a body can't have a decent night's sleep all of a sudden?" the elder half-elf yawned, still half-asleep as he sat up and gazed blearily out of his bedroom window. "For goodness' _sake,_ Elrond, it's hardly past dawn! Whatever reason you have, it had better be a good one…"

"You're leaving to pay a visit to Maglor in the Grey Havens today, remember?" Elrond II reminded him. "You've _only_ been planning this for _three weeks!_" His good-humored wit was evident in his tone.

Suddenly quite wakeful, Elrond I flung his blanket off of himself, leapt from his bed and began hurrying around the bedroom. "Of course, yes! I'd completely forgotten about that. What would I do without you?"

"That was a very strange thing to say to yourself," Elrond II frowned, "but whatever. I'll help you pack, shall I?" He wandered in the direction of the wardrobe and pulled it open, peering inside.

"That was another very strange thing to say to yourself," Elrond I countered, grabbing up several articles of clothing from his wardrobe and stuffing them unceremoniously into a haversack. "But don't you have packing of your own to do? I mean… oh, you know what I mean!"

"I know what you meant." Elrond II smiled, absently tidying up his godfather's bed as he spoke. "But I'm not coming with you. This is a trip meant only for you, after all, not me."

"What?" Elrond I dropped an armful of tunics in surprise, and scrambled to pick them up. "You _have_ to come! Lord Mandos said we can never be any more than five miles apart at any time! Remember what would happen? I told you all about the torn-kerchief thing—"

"That doesn't matter anymore!" his godson replied cheerfully, coming forward to pick up some of the dropped tunics. "Lord Mandos told me only last night that that business is over and done with. From now on, it doesn't matter how far apart we get. We could be on opposite ends of the earth, say, and we would be just fine."

"Well, that's definitely news to me!" Elrond I laughed, his disposition brightened greatly by this new prospect. "Excellent! The sooner I can get packed, the sooner I can leave, and the sooner I can leave, the sooner I'll arrive. The sooner I arrive, the sooner Maglor and I can start working on our big 'project'."

"You haven't even told him what it is yet, have you?" Elrond II asked. "And are you sure about this whole thing? It's a _big_ thing, what you're planning, and it wouldn't be good if it turned out to be all a waste of time. And how do you know you're destined to do this at all? You could be headed in exactly the opposite direction that you're meant—"

"It will be fine, just fine," Elrond I reassured himself. "My instructions were clear. Trust me; I know what I'm doing."

----

"I'm glad you know what you're doing; I definitely don't," Maglor admitted, staring up at the dauntingly-high pile of stocked timber in the shipyard of Mithlond. "A ship is a big thing to build, and there are only two of us – _one_ of us, technically, as you're the only one between us who knows the craft of building ships…"

"That's what I'm here to teach you," Elrond I replied amiably, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "We're both following together in Cirdan's footsteps, aren't we? I learned the craft of shipbuilding from Cirdan and my own father, Eärendil the Mariner himself, back when I lived in Sirion. I started just a few days after Elrond the Second was born. But my father's ship was a small one, meant only to carry four people, and no doubt we'll need a much larger one. A lot of elves will want to take the quickest route from here to Valinor."

Maglor was still anxious as he asked his kinsman, "And exactly how long will it take for us to build a ship like that?"

"Don't _worry,_" the half-elf reassured him. "We'll tackle this one step at a time. Best way to get any job done. Besides, if Eru really means for us to do this, we'll get it done right when He wants it done, and not a moment sooner. But we should get started soon, if not straight away. One piece of timber at a time."

----

"Is something troubling you, Elwing?"

Elwing turned to look at the golden-eyed Valië seated calmly at her right side, and shook her head with a slight smile. "No, my lady, I'm just fine. On the contrary, I thought _you_ seemed to be rather upset about something. May I ask what it might be?"

Vairë heaved a deep sigh, turning away from her loom to look into her kinswoman's face. "I have never thanked you properly for what you did for me in the Void. You freely took my place in the battle, you suffered for my sake, and you might have died in my place. It was completely selfless of you to do so. You could have declined, you could have turned from me when I told you of my intentions, but you did not. You passed through the Gates of Night perhaps even more fearlessly than your husband. I owe you more than I can tell of, Elwing, daughter of Dior Eluchil."

Elwing noted the use of her full title, and she bowed her head reverentially to the Weaver. "The world as a whole owes its existence to you, my lady."

Vairë's eyes glimmered strangely as she smiled, and she turned back to her loom, perhaps more than a little insecurely. For a while there was silence except for the loom's clicking, and at length Elwing plucked up enough courage to speak out again.

"My son always speaks quite fondly of you," she said nervously. "He regards you almost as a sister-in-law. And what with… recent happenings, I believe his affection for you can only have deepened after you saved not only his life, but the rest of the world as well."

This time the moist shimmer in Vairë's eyes was very noticeable, as was the pale crimson flush of her cheeks. "I would be far more than honored to accept his affection. Elrond is a most admirable elf; to think of him desiring me as a sister-in-law is more than gratifying. I can think of no other whom I would sooner choose for a brother-in-law."

"And I would be more than gratified to have you as a daughter-in-law," Elwing replied, a tender smile wreathing her lovely face. Her eyes were every bit as teary as the Weaver's. On a sudden whim she bent her head, gazing down at Vairë's nearly-complete tapestry. A vivid depiction of Elrond I and Maglor working steadily to finish building their ship was woven with exquisite detail.

"Well, Elrond certainly is his father's son," she murmured lovingly. "He and Maglor are nearly finished their ship. It has been more than half a year now since they started, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Vairë agreed. "These past seven months have been very long. It was the middle of June when Elrond the First traveled to the Grey Havens, and he and Maglor began toiling there." She cast a glance out of the window she and Elwing were seated by, taking in the snow that was tumbling down thick and fast outside, as it had been doing for the past few hours now. January had the valley of Rivendell caught tight in its frosty white clutches.

Elwing reclined a little where she sat, closing her eyes serenely. Even in the thickest part of winter she was obdurate to the cold, and the ambiance of fondness and warmth seemed to be embracing her like nothing she had ever felt before. It was almost as if a blanket of affection had been tucked around her. Deeply contented, Elwing soon drifted off to sleep, far from the norm of her kindred, with her eyes shut. But she neither noticed nor cared.

----

The month of March brought with it the termination of winter's reign for another year. It also came along with a large amount of planning, preparation and pressure. Mithlond was suddenly the center of elven attention, with many elves flocking west from Greenwood, Lothlórien, and Rivendell alike. The last few people to arrive were a group from Imladris consisting of Elrond II, Celebrían, Elladan, Elrohir, Elwing, Mandos and Lórien. Elrond I and Maglor, who were both in the haven already, came readily out to meet them. Elrond I had already gathered up all of his possessions for the long-awaited journey, but Maglor, it seemed, had not.

"I just didn't know whether I should or not," the lord of Mithlond confessed, shamefaced, as he stood in private before Elrond I and II and both Fëanturi. "Is it really my place to go back to Valinor? You all know what I was like when I left there, how I acted while I was in Middle-earth for the first long while, but now that I've been… redeemed, I'm just not sure anymore. I don't know, really, whether I deserve to even think of returning."

Mandos gave the former Kinslayer an almost tender smile as he replied, "The day I gave you redemption, I knew the matter would culminate for you here in due course. You have been granted liberty from your Oath of murder; the freedom to live as you once were long ago, in the years before you and your brothers made that promise, is now yours. Therein lies your answer, Maglor. I can assure you that you will be hailed as a great lord of elves, not as a slaughterer of them."

_Besides that,_ he added mentally, _it is exactly what Cirdan would have done._

Maglor bowed so lowly that the end of his nose almost brushed the ground. He couldn't possibly try to disagree with such a straightforward statement concerning his fate. "Thank you, my lord."

The Doomsman gently lifted him to a standing position, and clapped him on the shoulder with a cold, pale hand. "You had best hurry and pack your belongings – there is a lengthy voyage yet to take."

As the lord of Mithlond bowed again and hurried away, he reflected strangely that it had almost appeared as though Mandos, as he had spoken his last few words, had tipped him a very small and very fleeting wink.

----

"Elrond, you have certainly outdone yourself," said Elwing, as she stood gazing up at the ship that was to convey the elves to Valinor. Fashioned in the likeness of a great swan, its timbers gleamed white and silver in the evening sunlight. The prow was shaped like the swan's head, towering high above them all. Its beak had been painted gold, and its eyes glinted like a pair of black onyx stones. The tips of its wings had been painted silver, and the rest was like unsullied ivory.

Elrond I blushed modestly as he replied, "I may have outdone myself, but I'll never outdo the ones I learned from. Cirdan and Eärendil would certainly have done better – no doubt they have. This could never measure up to _Vingilot._"

"Eärendil would be proud to see this," his mother insisted, putting her arm around him. "I know he would. Have you given her a name yet?" she asked, referring to the ship.

"Maglor and I decided on a name quite a while ago," Elrond I answered, "but I wanted to wait until you were here to make it official. The ship's name will be _Elwing._"

The woman Elwing was silent for a moment, her silver-blue eyes awash with tears. "I am very touched, Elrond. Touched and honored. Thank you very, very much."

"You are most welcome," her son smiled fondly, brushing the tears gently from her face with his hand. "And now, my lady, I believe we should be setting off. It's time to say…" He faltered, uncertain of his aptitude to continue. Elwing quietly finished the sentence for him.

"Goodbye."

Nodding once and steeling himself with a careful breath, the elder half-elf turned around and mingled casually with the throng of elves, with his mother at his side. With nods and murmurs he encouraged his friends and family to come forth and board the ship. Kisses, embraces and tears were given freely, without discretion. Parents and children, brothers and sisters, distant relations and close friends all shared in this bittersweet time.

Elrond I calmly approached a group of his own close relatives; his younger self, his wife, children, mother- and father-in-law, son-in-law, and granddaughter. He smiled lovingly at them all as he addressed them, but he couldn't stop his tears from finally flowing.

"I understand that some of you will not be coming with us to the Undying Lands," he said softly, "and I want those few especially to know that no matter how many miles of earth, water or sky come between us, we will _always_ be family. Love doesn't know distance; it doesn't know time, and it doesn't know death. As long as we have love, we will always have each other."

Then three elves out of the group came hesitantly forward: Celeborn, Elladan and Elrohir. They were the few that Elrond I had been speaking of, the few who were staying behind. The twins wore identical expressions of anguish and sorrow, and tears poured unheeded down their pale faces as their father embraced them. Celeborn, too, was deeply pained; he sobbed earnestly onto his son-in-law's shoulder. Then those three turned to others of their family, and received the same tender farewell.

But as all sweet things had their due endings, so that time of goodbyes had to come to a finale. Elrond I and II, Elwing, Galadriel, Celebrían, Arwen, Voronwë and Caranel II left their weeping kinsmen behind, and smiled faintly as they were joined by Maglor. Mandos and Lórien were nowhere to be seen; it appeared that they had already boarded the ship themselves. Together the eight elven companions also embarked _Elwing_ and prepared for the ship's maiden voyage, just as Eärendil's star arose from the West, rivaling the fading sun with the radiance of his Silmaril.

Elrond I and II glanced sadly behind them, to where their twin sons and father-in-law still stood in silence, gathered together with all of the others who wouldn't be making the last journey into the West. The elder of the two sons of Elrond was now the second ruler of Imladris; his father's finest _mithril_ circlet adorned his pale brow, and he stood up tall and proud as best befitted his lordship. But his grey eyes were still swimming with tears as he watched the ship vanish into the sunset's golden haze, gliding on a sea of silver glass.

----

Elrond I smiled to himself as he paced the deck of his ship, gazing up at the silver coin of the moon and the brilliant lamp of his father's star. The ship had only just passed out into the wide, dark waters of the Great Sea. A sweet melody drifted up and into Elrond's ears from belowdecks; Maglor must have been playing his harp. The half-elf turned, intending to join his kindred below, but he halted as Lórien swirled smoothly into view at his side.

"Good evening," the two friends greeted each other casually, and in unexpectedly perfect unity. They both also smiled and laughed at the same time. The Dream-lord was the first to break the strange concurrence. "How are you?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you," Elrond I smiled. "And yourself?"

"The same," the Vala smiled back.

Elrond nodded. "I'm glad to hear that."

They lapsed into a momentary silence, but then Elrond I gave an abrupt snort of laughter. His comrade frowned at him. "What is so amusing, may I ask?"

"I was just thinking," the half-elf replied, "about the day you and Lord Mandos first came to me. The evening before you arrived, I was telling my sons of how I'd felt that I hadn't done anything of importance in my lifetime. They insisted otherwise, giving me examples such as rescuing my wife from orcs beneath Caradhras, and bringing Andúril to Aragorn when he was most in need of it in the last of the wars with Sauron. But the strange thing is, most of the things I worried about then had _nothing_ to do with this life. So really I was anxious about nothing."

"How very ironic," Lórien agreed. He glanced idly upward at the black sky, and noticed that Eärendil's star was about to vanish for another night. "You had better get on to bed, Elrond, it's late. I will be along shortly."

"Of course," Elrond I nodded, turning on his heel and moving toward the door leading to the barracks. He looked back for a moment before passing over the threshold, leaving the Dream-lord standing alone on the deck. But not for long: Mandos arrived in a shimmer of shadow, and his first words to his brother were, _Have you told him yet?_

_Of course not,_ Lórien retorted. _Why ruin the surprise?_

Mandos nodded, satisfied, and smiled as his fellow Vala chuckled to himself aloud.

"Elrond, you poor fool," he sighed fondly. "If only you knew. 'One last adventure', hmm? Not likely, I'm afraid. Not likely at all."


	75. Arrival and Invitation

**Chapter Seventy-Four: Arrival and Invitation**

Was it months, weeks, or only days they had been sailing? Time seemed to swim and blur into a haze of obscurity. Sun and rain, starlight and shadows blended and swirled together as joyous laughter mingled with calm silence. It all felt to Elrond I and II like a beautiful dream… but the half-elf knew it couldn't be, no matter how convincing Lórien's illusions often were. This was _real;_ he was on his way to the Undying Lands, where he could live in happiness and peace, without fear of darkness or evil. Soon they would leave the bent seas behind them, and continue down the Straight Road to the Blessed Realm. Elrond was leaving home to find a home.

"Lord Elrond?"

The sweet female voice made Elrond II flinch slightly and spin around, startled out of his train of thought. He immediately recognized the elleth who stood opposite him: Haldir of Lothlórien's petite, green-eyed wife, Laurëlas, who had wedded the Marchwarden of the Golden Wood soon after Elrond II and Celebrían's own marriage ceremony. The half-elf smiled politely as he addressed his kinswoman. "Good afternoon, Laurëlas."

"Good afternoon, sir," the elleth replied courteously. "You're wanted belowdecks, sire, at the request of Lord Maglor. He wishes to speak with you in his cabin as soon as possible, whenever that is."

"It can be immediately, if he wants," Elrond II told her, and allowed the elleth to lead the way to Maglor's cabin. The lord of Mithlond leapt up from where he had been sitting and hurried toward them, speaking rapidly as he came. "Elrond, Elrond, just the elf I wanted to see! Please do come in – yes, thank you, Laurëlas, you're free to go – sit down, Elrond, please."

"Are you feeling all right, Maglor?" Elrond II asked anxiously, noticing that his kinsman was oddly ashy in the face as he closed the cabin door behind the retreating elleth. "What is this all about? Please, try to slow down a bit."

"I know you'll probably think me a total idiot for even thinking of this," Maglor replied, wringing his handkerchief in his hands as he spoke every bit as quickly as before, "but I can't help it, I just can't. I _know_ Lord Mandos said I'd be welcomed into Valinor once we arrived, but I'm just worried… what if, _what if,_ everything's questions and riddles! What if he was only telling me the things I wanted to hear? Maybe I won't be welcomed back into Valinor at all…"

"I have one _very_ good reason why you're wrong," Elrond II promptly cut him off. "Lord Mandos is the Doomsman of the Valar, and as such, has been granted the knowledge of everything that has, is, and ever will happen in the whole world. Why would he choose to lie about something as tremendously important as that? I've trusted him with my very life for six thousand years, and I believe every word he said to you back in Mithlond."

Maglor looked as though he were about to reply, but he wisely kept his tongue in check. Elrond II clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, smiling, "Don't worry so much. You have the Valar's promise that you'll be just fine. Just you wait and see."

----

Merely a few days later, or so it seemed, the many inhabitants of _Elwing_ awoke to behold a veil of fine, pearly mist cloaking the sea and the sky, and a complete halt to the endless gentle rocking of the ship. Everyone stood on the main deck, in speechless wonder at the uncanny phenomena.

Elrond I and II stood next to Celebrían, Arwen, Voronwë and Caranel II, while Galadriel and Maglor were a little ways apart from the rest. They stood side-by-side at the prow of the ship, gazing fixedly westward. All of the elves were mute, waiting with bated breath for something that none of them could ever fully explain…

All at once there rose a wave of music from nowhere and everywhere, as though someone had started to play a violin; yet no such minstrel was anywhere in sight. The only musical instrument on the deck was Maglor's harp (the harp that had once belonged to Gil-galad), but his fingers were nowhere near the strings. The melody drifted outward and around the deck, shivering eerily into the ears of the assembled elves.

Slowly another layer was added to the song: the rich bass undertones of a cello, hovering smoothly and steadily below the capricious falsetto voice of the violin. At the same time, two figures came momentarily into sight: a silver-haired lord clothed in grey and a white-skinned lord with hair and garments like a raven's feathers. Both were moving their lips, yet no voices came from their lips, save for the melodies of the instruments.

Then Galadriel's voice rang out, a strong alto, rising up to mingle with the weird and yet wonderful tune of the Valarin musicians. At her side, Maglor, too, began to sing in a fair tenor; and at the same time he dropped to one knee and wove his nimble fingers together with the strings of his harp, adding his own element to the harmony.

The music swelled upward in a sweet crescendo – an inundation of happiness, and light, and warmth, and unending peace. No elf present was dry-eyed, for they all knew that at last the bent Seas were behind them and the Straight Road was indeed open to them. The land of the Valar was near, and a single unidentified voice seemed to whisper soothingly into the heart of each specific elf. _Come home, child of the West…_ _Why do you weep? All of your fears will pass away… Turn your face to the green world… Use well the days._

----

Time was blissfully incalculable from that blessed morning onward. The silvery mist still hung about the ship like a soft curtain, but no-one minded it at all. All anyone could think about was how close the Undying Lands were getting as the days whirled past like hours. It felt as if mere days had passed when a shout echoed down from the crow's-nest: "Land ho, dead ahead as she goes!"

The elves flocked to the main deck, clustering at the swan's-head prow. Sure enough, lit up by the rose-and-golden dusk, the shores of the Blessed Realm gleamed like a strand of pearls, and an ivory-white tower stood like a patient watchman, as though to herald their coming. The rolling hills behind were like great emeralds heaped beneath a huge range of mountains, whose amethyst-hued peaks rose up to immeasurable heights. The fathomless, passionate sensation of peace, of joy, of _life,_ drew them strongly, but tenderly onward.

As the distance between ship and shore lessened, the elves could see clearly the harbor of Alqualondë, Swan-haven. A choir of elven voices arose to greet the newcomers, every bit as bright and blissful as larks' exaltations: "Welcome, brothers and sisters!"

"Thank you!" Elrond I called out in joyous reply, as he stood foremost at _Elwing_'s prow.

A ramp was lowered to the dock, and the elves on the ship moved into a more organized throng, as those of the haven stood and waited patiently below. Elrond I descended first, with his mother at his side, and the two of them were almost immediately smothered in a great group hug by dozens of Valinorean elves. Taking that as a good sign, all the others began to disembark in twos and threes.

Galadriel and Maglor warily approached the top of the ramp side-by-side; as both of them were exiles, they were on equal footing here. The dark-haired lord, remembering Mandos and his wise counsel, squeezed his cousin's hand reassuringly, and they walked down the ramp together.

A far cry from the coldness Galadriel had been ardently dreading, both elven rulers were in tight embraces even before they were fully aware of it. Laughing and weeping, the son of Fëanor and daughter of Finarfin allowed themselves to be overwhelmed by their elated kindred.

Finally extricating himself from the fervent arms of his kin, Elrond I caught his younger half by the shoulder and gasped breathlessly in his ear. "This is amazing! I'm seeing with two pairs of eyes what I never got to see with only one pair!"

"Well, I suppose we've seen enough to last us two lifetimes, then, eh?" Elrond II winked.

"Oh, there will never be enough to see!" the elder half-elf exclaimed, his voice a little bit hoarse with delight. "We could spend ten lifetimes wandering around here, and probably still be surprised!"

"Yes, indeed," smiled a voice from just above them. Both halves of Elrond looked up into the cheerful, bearded face of Tulkas. As Elrond I and II bowed low, the Wrestler gave out a hearty laugh.

"I understand that you have not yet had the chance to make yourselves fully at home, but I bring word from Manwë that you and your mother are invited to attend a celebratory banquet in honor of your arrival, which is to be held in Ilmarin upon Taniquetil, in no less than three days' time."

The elf bowed again, and Elrond I acted as spokesperson. "We would be most honored to attend, sire."

Tulkas nodded, laughing again in obvious approval. "Excellent! I will indeed extend your reply to my kindred. I hope also that we may meet again, perhaps before the feast."

"As do we," Elrond II smiled graciously.

The Wrestler nodded a second time, tipping the half-elf a cheerful wink before vanishing discreetly from view. But Elrond I soon spotted a large golden-pelted stag galloping away up the jewel-green hills.

----

Three days: that was seventy-two hours, or one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes of waiting. True, they were tremendously busy minutes, in which a great deal of moving and settling-in was done (Elrond, Celebrían, Galadriel, Arwen, Voronwë and Caranel all found homes in the splendid city of Tirion-upon-Tunà, while Elwing returned to her long-vacant tower and Maglor chose to dwell quite contentedly in Alqualondë), but they were anxious nonetheless.

Elrond II stared intently westward, scouring the green countryside with his eyes, striving to snatch a glimpse of pale gold against the endlessly-rolling emerald hills. He turned his head to look suddenly over his shoulder as Elrond I approached softly from behind to join him at the window.

"Any sign of Lord Tulkas yet?" the elder elf inquired conversationally.

"Not yet," the younger answered. "It's almost dusk; he should be here soon."

"You can count on him arriving just in time," his godfather smiled, just at the same time as three polite knocks sounded upon the front door, several rooms away. Whirling about, Elrond I cried, "It's him!"

Celebrían had already answered the door by the time both of Elrond's halves were in the room. Rising from where she had been kneeling reverently before Tulkas, the lady of the household smiled at her husband as she moved aside to give the Wrestler space to enter.

"Good evening, my lord," Elrond I and II said as one, bowing low to their kinsman.

"Good evening to you both," Tulkas replied, nodding to both husband and wife. "Are you ready to ride to Taniquetil?" he asked Elrond.

Both halves of the elf nodded in eager affirmation. The Vala laughed benevolently. "Very good! Give me a moment to step outside and change, and the we will be on our way." He backed unobtrusively out the door as he spoke.

"Won't you stay a little longer, sire?" Celebrian asked invitingly. She seemed completely unfazed by the shape-shifting figure on the doorstep, who now bore great resemblance to a very large stag with a fine golden hide and sparkling hazel eyes.

"If I were granted the time enough, no doubt I would," Tulkas told her, dipping his great antlered head cordially as Elrond I and II clambered onto his back. "But I will remember that most gracious offer."

"Our door is always open to you and your kinsfolk, sire," Elrond II smiled, "should you choose to drop by."

"Thanks and blessings to you both!" cried the Wrestler-stag, laughing aloud again. With a final nod to Celebrían, he took off in a thunder of hoofs.

----

Valinor's lush countryside sped past in a blur of dappled green. The moon was new that night; the only light came from the myriad stars, all of them outshone by Eärendil. Tulkas raced on over the rolling hills far below, never showing signs of fatigue or breathlessness. The low drumming of his hoofs matched the drumming of Elrond's two hearts.

"Hold tight," the stag warned his rider. "Our path is about to become quite rocky!"

They were deep in the east foothills of the Pelori – the great mountains of Valinor. Tulkas picked his way carefully around and over the rocks as surely-footed as a mountain goat as the landscape rose steadily under the stag-Vala's hoofs. Elrond II clung tightly to Tulkas' shoulder blades, and Elrond I clung tightly to his godson's waist.

The rock that they were on was now exceptionally steep, but someone skilled had carven a wide, winding flight of stairs up the slope. Tulkas cantered easily up the steps, until he spied an almost indiscernible fracture in the slick stone face. Here he stopped and advised them, "You had best climb off my back; we will continue from here on foot."

Unquestioningly the half-elf obeyed him, and the Vala reared up onto his hind legs as he resumed his humanoid form. With his strong right fist he rapped thrice upon the smooth rock, just to the right of the crack, and the hair's-breadth fissure leisurely widened with a loud, scraping rumble. Soon a doorway stood before them, wide enough for them both to pass through abreast. Glittering lights beckoned them inward.

"Welcome to the dwelling of our Lord and Lady," a male and a female voice chimed out from within.

Tulkas inclined his head respectfully, and Elrond I and II bowed low to the pair of Maiar. The male – Eönwë, herald of Manwë – nodded his raven-haired head in return, deep blue eyes glinting. It was his feminine companion – Ilmarë, Varda's golden-haired, silver-eyed handmaiden – who spoke to them alone, in a sweet alto voice.

"Please enter. Our Lord and Lady are nearly ready to commence the celebration; the last of the Valar are even now arriving." She and her kinsman stepped politely aside to let the waiting guests in, then turned and led them forward.

Elrond was awed by the sheer craftsmanship of the vast mountain-mansion of Taniquetil, even though he knew this was not nearly the most glorious part. The heart of the massive stone structure had been expertly hollowed and hewn, with many intricate designs carven into the walls around them. The very stone seemed to shine with thin veins of pure light.

The four companions were walking up one of several flights of stairs, just a few of which were discernible, with other Valar, and presumably other pairs of Maiar, ascending them. Elrond smiled when he saw his mother climbing a flight alongside of Ulmo, and waved back at her when she did.

After what felt like quite a few hours, and many twists and turns in their path, Elrond and his comrades saw a pair of double doors at the top of their stairway. Eönwë stepped up to them boldly, and raising his hand, he knocked on one of the doors as Tulkas had knocked on the mountainside.

"The lords Tulkas and Elrond have arrived!" he called out strongly.

"Then by all means, let them come!" cried Manwë's voice in reply, from behind the door. There was clear laughter in the Wind-lord's tone.

Ilmarë strode forward to stand beside Eönwë, and each of the Maiar pushed on one of the doors, and courteously bowed the Vala and half-elf inside. Tulkas crossed the threshold confidently, with Elrond's halves walking meekly on either side. But neither Elrond I nor Elrond II could keep from smiling at the wondrous sight that greeted them.


	76. The Very Strangest Gift

**Chapter Seventy-Five: The Very Strangest Gift**

The banquet hall of Ilmarin was wide, with many pillars around the walls, made of what looked like marble; the high ceiling, which was so transparent that it appeared not to exist at all, revealed the multitudinous stars that glittered not-so-high above them. Beneath the diamond-studded ebony dome, there sat a round table set with seventeen chairs. Some of these were already occupied by other Valar, while most still were unfilled, but soon to be in use as more guests filed in.

Elrond scanned the table quite apprehensively, wondering where he was to sit. From what he could see, the Valar were seating themselves in the same order that they always sat in during councils. This would mean that Elrond and Elwing would take up the places of the lowest rank – that is, directly across from Manwë and Varda. But to their surprise, Nessa and Tulkas took their seats comfortably there.

Elrond I and II both glanced up rapidly as Lórien and Mandos, respectively, caught them lightly by the shoulders, and steered them toward two seats a bit closer to Manwë. Lorien guided Elrond I to a place at his right, with Tulkas on his other side; Mandos sat down in-between Oromë and Elrond II. Across the table, Elwing was seated happily between Estë and Vairë, her two Valarin daughters-in-law. The laughter of elves and Valar echoed like music, ringing sweetly off the walls and the ceiling. But the merriment fell to a hush in an instant, when Manwë rose to speak.

"Friends," he beamed to one and all, "this night is truly a blessed one! Among us tonight are two of the Eldar, whom we regard as friends and above all, _family._ Truly, they are the only two of their race to be counted as such in past or present. Each of them have played integral roles in our lives, helping to shape us all into who we are today. I now ask Elrond and Elwing to rise, that we may honor them."

Amid a clamor of cheers and applause, mother and son got slowly to their feet. Neither of them could believe what their eyes told them so clearly. The Lords of the West, who were revered by all races of Middle-earth, were applauding two children of Eru. Both elves felt their ears burning, but it was embarrassment suffused with gratification. And when at last Elrond and Elwing both thought their knees would support them no longer, their kinsfolk graciously let them sit.

Soon all eyes were turned toward Yavanna, who had risen smoothly to her feet like a tall green sapling emerging from the sun-warmed earth. She clapped her hands together once, and the bare table was covered with empty platters, bowls and goblets; with another clap, these were filled nearly to overflowing with all kinds of food and drink. Wild game and fowl were heaped on platters amid bowls of fresh fruit, fresh or cooked vegetables, plates of bread and large pitchers of wine, water and fruit juice. The tempting aromas mingled and wafted seductively about the hall. Yavanna smiled, pleased, and spoke a single word before seating herself mildly again: "Enjoy!"

That was all of the encouragement the others needed, and more. Everyone tucked into the bountiful spread like a brigade of half-starved soldiers returning from a battle. The merry clatter of cutlery upon dishes accented the mirthful conversations that sprang up all round the table. But one exchange of dialogue was hushed, and considerably more solemn.

"Elrond," said Mandos softly into the elf's ear, "I must speak openly with you. I have had a specific preparation in my mind for many years now, and it must come about very soon. I understand all of the misgivings you will have, but I assure you that this is for the best. I have your best interests in mind."

"What best interests?" Elrond II asked, his venison-laden fork hovering midway between the table and his mouth. Elrond I turned his head to listen in, lowering the goblet of wine he had just been about to sip from.

"Please, do not let me interrupt your meal," the Doomsman told him. "As I was saying, I know that you have lost several treasured friends because of me, and I see a chance to let many things – kinsmen and kinswomen – of your past… cross paths with you again, so to speak. And so I grant you a proposal, Elrond, son of Eärendil: would you be willing to let me take you temporarily into my Halls, and by this means reunite you with your long-lost friends for one day, and one day only?"

Elrond's immediate answer was a splutter and a gasp, perfectly synchronized; both halves of the elf had choked, completely simultaneously. The elder involuntarily sprayed a large amount of spit and wine across the table, while the younger fought to breathe around the sizeable hunk of venison lodged firmly in his windpipe. Estë leapt up without a moment's pause to aid them, much to the half-elf's gratitude.

"There is one drawback, however," Mandos continued, as his kinsman caught his breath. "No _living_ person save the Valar may pass into the realm of the dead. In order for you to enter my Halls, I would have to fully remove your soul from your body. In effect, just to do this, you would still have to die like any other elf who was dwelling there for ever."

"Well," Elrond I finally murmured, very softly, forcing himself to meet the Doomsman's gaze, "it would really only be like walking a little further in Cirdan's footsteps, wouldn't it? But I have to ask… when exactly is 'very soon'?"

"I had hoped that it could be as soon as tomorrow night," the Doomsman told him, "from midnight until the next midnight. That would give you precisely twenty-four hours to stay among the dead."

"Tomorrow night," Elrond I breathed. "But that's the fourth of April. My – my birthday."

The dark-haired Vala nodded. "Think of it, if you wish to, as a birthday gift from me."

All four of Elrond's eyes glistened moistly. "Thank you, Lord Mandos."

Somehow or other the half-elf managed to let mirth suffuse his heart again, and joined in with the fun his kinsfolk were having all around him. Careful not to drink too much wine or swallow his food without chewing it thoroughly, Elrond laughed and joked willingly with his mother and the Valar. But deep in the elf's heart now lay a weird new reality: he was going to die the next night. And not only that, but he would be utterly _happy_ about it. It was a strange world, after all…

----

"It's nearly time, Elrond," Celebrían murmured, gazing gravely out of the window of the bedroom she shared with Elrond II. "Lord Mandos will be here in less than a minute. Are you _sure_ you're really ready?"

"Yes," two voices answered her sincerely from the bed. Elrond I and II lay side-by-side on top of the coverlet, their hands clasped tightly together. Their pale faces were lit up by the stars only, for the moon had not yet begun to show his face again. Four blue eyes met, locking doggedly. Two hearts beat as one, pulsing almost audibly. Elrond quietly savored his last few moments as one of the living.

He knew full well that it was merely temporary, but there was something about the act of dying peacefully, a fate never before granted to the Eldar, that sent chills up the elf's two spines. His own twin brother Elros had passed away in his sleep: totally painlessly, much like Elrond soon would. There was something oddly special about the similarity there.

"Good evening," said the Doomsman, entering the room almost imperceptibly. Celebrían turned and dropped to her knees, and Elrond I and II sat up hurriedly. Mandos gently laid a pale hand upon each of his outermost shoulders, urging him politely to lie down again. The Vala nodded courteously to Celebrían, who inclined her head respectfully in return. Neither of them had completely forgotten the debt that still lay unpaid between them.

"We have only a moment," Mandos said insistently to Elrond, clasping the younger half-elf's hand in his own. "Close your eyes and relax…"

Elrond did so, deliberately slowing and deepening his breathing. He didn't see the Vala's body fade from sight, nor did he notice his wife's widened, teary eyes. Death's blackness closed in around him like an icy, choking blanket, and tightly gripping the Doomsman's hand he plummeted down, down and down, to a state of unconsciousness deeper than the very deepest slumber, where few but the deceased could ever follow…

----

_Elrond I carefully opened his eyes, gazing uncertainly around him. His godson stood next to him, and Mandos was on the younger elf's other side. But the Vala looked nothing like he did in the land of the living: no more a solid figure clothed in raven hues, the Lord of the Dead was now a shining, impalpable figure with two eyes like dark-colored jewels. Elrond himself had changed little; he appeared almost as he had in life, save that now he was semitransparent._

"_Why am I still in two halves?" Elrond II spoke up into the silence._

"_As the body is divided, so shall the essence be," Mandos answered cryptically. _

_For a moment there was little else to see but a hazy void of iridescent shadows (how was that possible, the elf wondered wordlessly, if there was no light?), and then a brilliantly-lit gateway was before them: the Door of the Dead, impenetrable by any living elf's soul._

"_Home, sweet home," the Doomsman smiled strangely. "Welcome."_

_The doors swung open, without creaking, as Mandos extended his right hand. The elf and the Vala strode forth together, into the light that streamed blindingly through the gateway into the next realm…_

----

When Elrond opened his eyes for a second time, it was to see a beautiful realm unfolding on his every side. Echoes of distant laughter rang merrily in his ears, as did the melodies of wind, birdsong and running water. As he stared around in awe, he saw that there were high walls surrounding him at a distance; some of the walls had arched doorways leading off to other rooms, he supposed. Yet when the elf looked right up and down, a full moon blazed among bright stars like a shepherd in the midst of his flock, and verdant grass was growing below his feet. He must have been in some kind of courtyard.

Mandos nodded, affirming Elrond's unspoken notions. "This is one of many courtyards in the halls I keep. Look at the walls, Elrond; what do you see?"

Elrond looked, and smiled when he noticed that the walls were covered with beautifully-woven tapestries. A wall-hanging nearby held a skillful depiction of nothing other than the Two Trees of Valinor, in all their long-lost splendor. Telperion glimmered like cool silver, while Laurëlin blazed with golden flame. Illustrated beneath the trees were figures Elrond recognized right away as Yavanna and Nienna. The Giver of Fruits stood with her arms reaching to the heavens, her lips moving in some soundless song, while the Weeper let her tears flow onto the Trees' roots and nourish them.

Elrond I and II moved to and fro between the walls, quietly admiring Vairë's handiwork as well as the magnificence of Mandos' Halls. The Doomsman watched and waited good-naturedly, smiling to no-one but himself. Turning his head slightly toward something that the elf wasn't paying attention to, he counted backwards silently: _Three, two, one…_

On "one", a small, brown-haired ellon sprinted around a corner, giggling like mad as he came hurtling inadvertently straight toward the unknowing Elrond II. The half-elf spotted the child just in time and leapt aside, but he wasn't quite fast enough to dodge the elfling. The boy squeaked in alarm as he attempted to impede himself, but a minor collision was inevitable. The elves tumbled to the grass in a tangle of limbs.

Blinking as he tried to discover just who had hit him, while getting his breath back at the same time, Elrond II was mildly surprised to find himself nose-to-nose with an elven boy who looked scarcely older than ten. A pair of round, bright silvery-blue eyes met a pair of rather puzzled sky-blue ones, and elf-lord and child both gave bemused smiles. The little ellon giggled again, and Elrond II managed to gather enough breath to talk. "Why, hello, little one."

"Hello," the boy replied politely, a slight flush reddening his cheeks. "My name's Elurín. What's yours?"

"Elrond the Second," the young half-elf replied. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Elurín."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Elurín smiled. Then his face became anxious as he scrambled to his feet. "Did I hurt you when I bumped into you?"

"Not at all," Elrond II assured him, rising as well and brushing grass from his robe. "You just gave me a bit of a scare when you came running around the corner like a rabbit being chased by a dog."

The idea of being likened to a rabbit set Elurín into another giggling fit. During this time, Elrond racked his brain, searching for the origin of the boy's name. Elurín… _Elurín…_ the name was so familiar, and yet not so…

"Elurín!" cried a voice, cutting into his thoughts. An older ellon, perhaps sixteen years of age, hurried around the same corner that the younger boy had come from. This newcomer had the same brown hair and silvery eyes as Elurín; the resemblance was startling, as was the nagging familiarity. _Where_ had he seen a face like that before?

The older boy hurried over to Elurín's side, scolding him fretfully. "What have I told you about running off like that? You could have hurt someone!"

"He didn't," Elrond II told him warmly. "He only startled me."

The ellon blinked at him momentarily in surprise, and then bowed his head respectfully, correctly assuming the half-elf's status as a lord. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize…"

"That's quite all right," Elrond II smiled, holding his hand out courteously. "Lord Elrond the Second at your service."

"Eluréd, son of Dior Eluchil, at your service," the boy responded, grasping Elrond's hand and shaking it. "You've already met my brother Elurín."

Something clicked together just then in Elrond's mind. _Eluréd, son of Dior Eluchil…_ Dior was the name of Elrond's grandfather – his mother's father! But that would make Eluréd and Elurín his mother's brothers… the uncles he had never known. Of course, yes… that was why their faces looked so familiar! These two boys were the image of their sister.

Elrond I had turned his head just a bit too sharply at the sound of his grandfather's name. Now rubbing his neck, he rushed to his godson's side. Eluréd flinched in surprise, staring from one to the other. A slow smile found his lips. "Oh, I see… you're twins?"

"Not precisely," Elrond I sighed. "I'm his godfather, Elrond the First. Elrond the Second had a twin brother once, whose name was Elros, but he died many, many years ago. The strange resemblance between Elrond and I is nothing but coincidence." The last sentence was a lie he had grown oddly attached to.

Eluréd nodded. "So, Elrond the Second's parents named him after you for some reason?"

"That's right," the elder half-elf nodded. "When Elrond was born, his mother had trouble with the delivery, and I was the one that Elrond's father chose to help. I ended up saving the lives of Elrond, Elros and Elwing, all in about fifteen min—"

"_Elwing!_" both young brothers yelped in surprise.

"She's our sister!" cried Eluréd. "She came here once a long time ago, but she didn't stay – she went back. She came back to life. Elurín and I both kind of knew her, and she knew us, too, even though she's grown up now. We thought she wouldn't remember," he added sadly.

"You're her brothers," Elrond II smiled. "Of course she'd remember you. She loves you."

Eluréd suddenly stared up at Elrond II, his widened eyes alight with wonder. "You're our sister's son. That would make you our nephew, wouldn't it?"

The younger half-elf nodded, beaming down at his uncles. "Yes, I suppose I am!"

Elurín yanked his brother's sleeve earnestly. "Let's take them to visit Caranel!" he urged.

It was Elrond I's turn to yelp. "_Caranel!_"

"Oh, did you know her?" Eluréd asked, smiling. "She came just a little while after Elwing did, but Caranel stayed. Elurín here absolutely _adores _her." The older boy fondly ruffled his younger brother's hair as he spoke.

Elrond I sobbed openly as he answered, "She was my best friend! She helped me when I was going through a terrible ordeal, and I repaid the debt when she was horribly abused by Maedhros, son of Fëanor…" He faltered at the odd look on Eluréd's face. "What is it? Did I say something?"

"It's nothing," the boy assured him, still wearing the same weird look. "You'll find out in a minute. Come on."


	77. Friends, Foes and Forgiveness

**Chapter Seventy-Six: Friends, Foes and Forgiveness**

Anxiously wiping the tears from his face, Elrond I hurried along beside his godson, in his young uncles' wake, with Mandos following unobtrusively behind. The half-elf stared all around him in rapidly-mounting wonderment; this place was somehow similar to Sirion, Mithlond, Imladris, Lothlórien and Greenwood at the same time. Vairë's tapestries served well to complete this perfection. And still they had only just crossed the threshold.

Through wide stone halls and beneath lush trees, across a rushing river and in the glow of the moon and stars, Elrond and his kindred wandered through the Doomsman's dwelling. The round moon lit their path almost as brightly as the glaring of the noontime sun. They met the spirits of other elves as they passed; all of them were strangers to Elrond, though Eluréd and Elurín seemed to know them all very well.

Elurín suddenly darted far ahead of his comrades, calling back to them in a high-pitched, elated voice. "We're almost there! She's right by the fountain, like always!"

"Is that you, Elurín?" laughed a cheerful female voice in reply. "Who have you brought with you now?"

"Lord Mandos, Eluréd, and two new friends!" Eluréd replied cheerily as they approached a corner. "One of them claims that he knew you when you were alive. His name is Lord Elrond the First!"

There was the briefest possible instant of total silence, and then a hasty whispering sound of running feet against grass. A small white figure seemingly crowned with flaring flames all but flew around the corner, finally skidding to a halt about a foot from Elrond I. There, she breathlessly bobbed a curtsy, brushing her fiery hair back from her bright blue eyes as she did. She was every bit as well-mannered, not to mention every bit as beautiful, as the half-elf remembered her to be. Death had never seemed so sweet.

"Lord Elrond," Caranel the First breathed, apparently just as unable to believe her eyes as Elrond I himself was. "You're here." Liquid-crystal tears were visible in her eyes, but she was smiling. Elrond I understood her mixed emotions completely.

"Yes," he replied in a whisper. "I'm here. I never imagined I'd see this day come to pass, but here we are, almost like these past Ages never happened. The years have been kind to you." _Kinder than they've been to me,_ he added without saying a word.

Caranel nodded, tears dripping down her face. She laughed rather hoarsely through them, mopping her cheeks self-consciously with her sleeve. "I don't know whether I should feel happy because I'm finally seeing you again, or sad because you're just as dead as I am."

"Neither do I, believe me," Elrond agreed. He gazed tenderly into her face and sighed, "I can't believe you're _here._ You had your whole life ahead of you, and it was all torn away from you by a Kinslayer's sword, in a blow that was really meant for me… I still haven't fully forgiven myself."

"But it wasn't your _fault,_" Caranel insisted, her eyes sparking with a mingled emotion he didn't quite recognize. "And besides…" Her gaze softened. "I'm totally happy here. You know the saying about death: he or she has 'gone to a better place'? Well, this place is a hundred times better than anything I could ever dream of."

Elrond I smiled warmly. "I'm happy for you."

Caranel's cheeks flushed bright pink – another well-known sight. "Thank you very much. Oh, I have to take you to see… you're never going to believe…" Her blush bypassed five shades of scarlet and settled on maroon, and she turned away, just as a very familiar male voice rang out behind them, from a tall figure who was striding briskly toward them.

"Entertaining Lord Mandos' newest arrivals again, eh, Caranel? You do that every single time someone comes along…"

For a long time Elrond I thought he'd swallowed his tongue. The ellon approaching them was tall, with a mane of long red hair, and grey eyes, like flakes of stone. A white seven-pointed star was embroidered upon his tunic, and a deep blue cloak fell to his ankles. But the elf's arms ended at the wrists, totally handless. His sleeves had been sewn together at the cuffs to conceal the stumps from view.

Elrond I allowed the ellon's name to escape his lips in a disbelieving whisper.

"_Maedhros?_"

Maedhros – for it was indeed he – stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes found Elrond I and locked onto him, as what little color there was in his face hastily vanished, and he gasped, "Eärendil? Lord Eärendil?"

"No," the elder half-elf replied, shaking his head. "My name is Lord Elrond the First. But I believe I am the one you're thinking of, as you never learned my proper name while you were alive. You seemed quite comfortable with calling me Eärendil, so I left it at that."

"Lord… Elrond," Maedhros repeated slowly, stepping hesitantly forward. "It's you… I… I don't know what to…" The dead Kinslayer's voice and body both shook perceptively.

"…to say?" Elrond I finished for him. "You don't have to say a word, Maedhros. _I_ am the one who has a lot of explaining to do. Explaining… and confessing.

"I am the reason you're here, Maedhros. After Caranel died, I knocked you unconscious, remember? But the wound went much deeper than I thought. I attempted to heal you after the funeral that Maglor and I held together for Caranel, but the consequences of that were horrifying for all of us. You went… insane. You attacked Maglor and me, and we fought back out of instinct. I cut off your left hand, and you tried to tear my throat out with your teeth. I knocked you unconscious again, and that time I left you to bleed and die. And…" He bowed his head in profound, genuine remorse. "I'm sorry."

Maedhros was silent for a long time, his eyes wide with amazement. Eventually he found his voice again. "Well, um… that explains a lot…"

Elrond I nodded; what else could he do? There was a lengthy span of awkward silence, in which quite a bit of self-conscious fidgeting and shuffling was done, until Caranel timidly broke the thick quiet.

"Well, now, I suppose we all… understand each other a little better. Lord Elrond, and… Lord Elrond," she nodded to Elrond I and II, even as she moved to Maedhros' right side, "this is who I had wanted you to see. We've both been here for quite a long time, and we both have learned – at least I think we have – to put the past far behind us. We've grown fairly close, Maedhros and I."

This time, Elrond I was in no doubt that he had swallowed his tongue. After opening and closing his mouth mutely several times in succession, he gave voice to a weak half-laugh. "That explains a lot, too." He grinned down at Eluréd, who hadn't spoken in a long while. "So, that's the reason for the…" He imitated the expression his uncle had worn earlier, at the first mention of Maedhros.

Eluréd sniggered. "Exactly."

"But that's all in the past now," the elder half-elf continued, looking into Maedhros' face again. "Everything is absolved, isn't it? We can accept what happened, and move on." He held out his right hand to his former enemy, who stared blankly at it for a moment before offering the stump of his right arm. Smiling, Elrond shook it, loosening his grip a little bit as Maedhros grimaced. "Am I hurting you?"

"It always hurts," the redheaded elf replied, his mouth twisted into a half-wince, and half-smile. "Serves me right, though, doesn't it, for everything I did in my cursed life?"

Elrond I had no comeback to this. He was spared the requirement, however, when a male voice called Maedhros' name, and no less than six ellyn came around the corner. Three of them had ebony hair, two were redheads, and one sported silvery locks. Maedhros smiled when he spotted them, and embraced them one by one, or at least tried to. The second of the black-haired elves immediately sidestepped Maedhros as the handless elf approached. Maedhros merely nodded to him and moved on.

"Lord Elrond," he said in a voice more pleasant than any he had used while he was alive, "these are my brothers: Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod and Amras; and here is my nephew, Curufin's son Celebrimbor."

The five sons of Fëanor nodded curtly as Elrond inclined his head to them, and the son of Curufin smiled cordially and came forward a few paces. The elder half-elf embraced him as kindly as he would a brother, but a huge pang of guilt twisted his heart. He looked into the silver-haired elf's deep blue eyes and started to speak, but Celebrimbor cut across him just as his lips had parted.

"I know exactly what you're going to say," the jewelsmith said candidly, "and I have two words for you: _forget it._ What's done is done. You don't have to feel any guilt about what you did. The one thing I owe you, Lord Elrond the First, is probably the strangest debt in the world. It was because of your actions that my soul ended up here in paradise, and not deep in the Void with the wraiths who nearly turned me into one of them. Thank you very much for that."

"You're… you're very welcome," Elrond replied faintly. How on earth was he supposed to come up with a response to _that?_ Celebrimbor seemed to sense his nervousness, and he smiled in reassurance.

"It's all right," he insisted gently. "You don't need to say anything. I fully understand."

Elrond I nodded, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself. "Thank you."

The half-elf turned his head unexpectedly, his sniffs growing fairly fretful. "Is something burning?"

Caranel gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "_Oh!_ I left a batch of muffins in the oven! Please excuse me!"

Bobbing a curtsy to them all and whirling about, the elleth rushed back around the corner she had come from in the first place, leaving the others in an exceptionally uncomfortable silence. Elrond I marveled idly at the way Caranel never dispelled politeness for the sake of urgency.

A few minutes later, Caranel burst into sight again, now holding a basket nearly brimful with sweet-smelling, golden-brown muffins. The girl herself was rather out of breath and flushed, but victorious. "I saved them! Would you like some? Careful, they're hot…"

Caranel shyly passed the basket around, waiting for an opinion of the result of her efforts. She regarded Elrond I especially, knowing that he had been quite partial to her muffins in his life. Her eyes lingered on his face as he took a careful bite of the proffered snack.

Elrond I couldn't help but weep a single tear, as the familiar sweet-and-spicy flavor of the muffin burst on his tongue like a blessing. The honey had been baked right into the dough this time, he soon discovered, but he still didn't know the name of the unusual seasoning she used. He swallowed his mouthful, blinking as Caranel asked, "How is it?"

"_Hot,_" the elf gasped through his thoroughly-scorched throat. But he managed a smile as he added, "And a hundred times as delicious as I remember these muffins to be."

Caranel's face flamed at the praise, and burned even brighter as Mandos quietly accepted a muffin from the tray, smiled mildly as he bit into it, and nodded appreciatively. "These _are_ better than before," he agreed with Elrond I. "Oh, please do stop being so modest," he scolded the blushing elleth gently. This made her face turn even redder as she curtsied.

"Why don't we take a walk while we eat?" Mandos suggested, raising his voice a little so the others could hear. "I am sure Elrond and Elrond would like to continue their tour…"

Nibbling their muffins and talking between bites as they walked, the thirteen companions strolled casually on. While Elurín attached himself to Caranel like an ant to honey, Eluréd asked Elrond I and II very politely about his long-lost sister. The half-elf answered all his uncle's queries as candidly as he could, summing up the many years he'd spent with her. The boy was still throughout the narrative, but after a time he posed the very last question Elrond had been expecting.

"Are you only visiting here like Elwing did? Are you going to go back and be with her?"

Elrond II tried to soften the inevitable blow. "After a little while, yes, we'll go back. Just not yet. Lord Mandos promised Elrond and I that we could stay here for a whole day – no more, and no less. We arrived here right at midnight, and we have until next midnight. So for the next twenty-three hours or so we're going to live for the moment. Well, not _live_ in that sense, but you know what I mean…" He attempted a smile.

Eluréd nodded. "I can 'live' with that, I suppose."

Both elves laughed as the stress between them was broken. Freed from their somberness, they joined in gladly with the others' merriment. But after several minutes Elrond I's ears strained to discern another conversation from a distance away. The voices he heard were tremendously familiar, but he couldn't see their owners, so he couldn't be really sure at first. But when one of the speakers' names was mentioned, all Elrond's doubts vanished.

"…I've told you time and time again, Gil-galad, Elrond can take care of himself."

"All right, all right, don't get your beard in knots. But I can't help but worry. Who knows what happened when the Second Age ended? We haven't had any new arrivals here since then, have we?"

The figures' shadows came into sight on the grass, and Elrond's heart leapt into his throat when he saw familiar silhouettes. The voices continued:

"I've heard about _two_ newcomers, actually," said the first speaker. "Apparently they both got here tonight. I didn't catch any names, but I'm certain it's not Elrond."

"Would you be willing to wage your life on that?" Elrond I spoke up, stepping forth with his godson at his side, just as Gil-galad and the other speaker came into full view. The elf who had been formerly anonymous was revealed to be precisely who the half-elf had first thought he was: "_Cirdan!_"

The shipwright flinched, his eyes widening in utter shock. "E-Elrond? You're… you…"

Cirdan rushed toward his friend, tears dripping into his beard, and threw his arms around him. Elrond returned the hug earnestly, not knowing whether to laugh or weep. He settled for a teary-eyed smile. "It's good to see you again, _mellon nin._"

"And you," Cirdan replied rather gruffly. He regarded the half-elf studiously for a minute before chuckling, and speaking in a low voice. "You know, when I asked you to follow in my footsteps, I didn't think you'd take me quite so literally."

"This is only temporary," Elrond II replied, coming forward to embrace Cirdan as well. "Elrond and I were promised this chance for a reunion for one full day, from midnight to midnight. We still have twenty-three hours left."

"Twenty-two hours, fifty minutes," Mandos corrected him as he approached from behind.

"Of course," Elrond II nodded, accepting the rectification. "Still, it's quite a sum. And we both intend to use that time to its fullest capacity."

"Then what are we all just standing around for?" laughed Gil-galad. "We must show you everything! And we've got so much catching-up to do… what has happened since the end of the Second Age? Tell us all about it!"

Urged on by Mandos' mental murmurings, Elrond I and II gave a rather edited account of the events of the Third Age and beyond. Sending his thoughts, the half-elf promised Gil-galad that only he would receive the 'unabridged' version of the story.

"Good for you," Cirdan smiled once the half-elf was finished speaking. "Good for both of you. I'm sure Eärendil would be just as proud of you as I am."

"Thank you," Elrond I replied, fighting to conceal his tears. "Now, Gil-galad, what was it you were saying about showing us everything?"

Twenty-two hours and fifty minutes never passed so blissfully, or so quickly. The friends reminisced about their pasts, alternately laughing, weeping, and rekindling long-unsolved debates. Dawn rose, noon blazed, and dusk draped its murky blanket over Mandos' Halls. Tranquility permeated the air.

Elrond II glanced up in the middle of laughing at a joke Gil-galad had just told. His mirth halted abruptly at the expression upon the Doomsman's face. He didn't even need to hear Mandos' words to know what he was about to say. Midnight was near.


	78. And What Happened After

**Chapter Seventy-Seven: And What Happened After**

Sighing, the young half-elf laid a hand upon his godfather's shoulder as he spoke to all of his friends and kinsmen, both old and new.

"I understand," he began hesitantly, "that none of us wanted this moment to come. But as the saying goes, 'all good things have their end'. And indeed, I'm afraid it's time for us to say goodbye."

Twelve pairs of eyes met two. Half of the dozen pairs were wet; the others were solemn. Eluréd, Elurín, Caranel, Celebrimbor, Cirdan and Gil-galad stepped forward, and Elrond I and II embraced them one by one, weeping and whispering bittersweet goodbyes.

"Tell Elwing that Eluréd and I miss her," Elurín begged Elrond II. "_Please._"

"Of course," the young half-elf promised.

"Cross your heart?" the child quavered.

Elrond nodded, smiling through his own tears as he traced an X across his chest with his forefinger. Elurín appeared satisfied with this; he hugged his nephew tightly one last time before they parted.

Joining hands as they turned away from their kin, Elrond I and II followed Mandos back through the Door of the Dead. Back to life.

----

Elrond I and II both gasped at exactly the same time, their eyes flying open as their hearts jerked back into life-giving rhythms. They had returned to Elrond II's bedroom; Mandos stood on one side of the bed, tenderly holding the younger half-elf's hand in his own, and Celebrían was in a chair on the other side, smiling as she looked down into her husband's eyes, which held a sparkle of life once again.

"Welcome back," she greeted him softly. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Elrond I replied. "Though I'm not quite sure what to call it. It couldn't be the best day of my _life,_ could it? How about the best day of my… heheh… deadness?"

Mandos gave a benign laugh as he let go of Elrond II's hand. "It was the _only_ day of your 'deadness', you realize."

"I know," Elrond I smiled, a dreamy look entering his eyes. "But it was still wonderful."

"Then tell me about it," his wife urged him eagerly. "What did the Halls look like? Who did you meet?"

"Perhaps you should wait until the morning," Mandos advised, as Elrond I and II tried to inconspicuously cover up their yawns. "No doubt the fatigue of not sleeping for a whole day is bearing heavily down on Elrond, now that he is alive again."

Celebrían nodded, and Elrond I rose slowly from the bed. Bowing to Mandos, he slipped discreetly out the door and down the hallway to his own bedroom, but not before bidding himself, his wife and the Doomsman goodnight. The Vala himself then inclined his head to Celebrían and Elrond II, and faded unobtrusively into the shadows of midnight.

----

Did time go by at all? The sun and moon both rose and fell, truly, and Eärendil sailed the starry skies as ever, but there was no sense of minutes and hours or days and weeks. How long Elrond had been in Valinor, he had no idea. It felt like forever, yet only an instant.

Every new day brought beautiful familiarity and new surprises. Visits to the dwellings of his friends and kinsfolk, the Valar, were very much anticipated. Ilmarin-upon-Taniquetil, Aulë's mansion, Lórien's garden, Nienna's house, and Tulkas' hall were among those the half-elf traveled to most often, but he also frequently rode with Oromë through the forests of Yavanna, and swam in the cool waters of Ulmo's seas. Mirth, sorrow, exhilaration and calm dominated Elrond's entire being in turns as he chose them.

The half-elf smiled in quiet reflection of the recent, and perhaps not-so-recent, past. Two reminiscences especially stood out in his mind: two meetings with Maiar, during the very first visits to the homes of the Valar whom each served; one of those Maiar served Aulë, the other served Lórien. Curumo and Olórin, they were named respectively. Curumo was an excellent craftsman, aptly named "Man of Skill", and Olórin was adept in the weaving of fair visions to embed in the minds of others. Each had learned his profession well from his master.

But it was not only these things that had originally drawn Elrond toward them: these two had been known in an exceptionally different lifetime as two of the Istari, a group of five Maiar who were chosen to rise against Sauron in the Third Age of Middle-earth. Curumo was Saruman, and Olórin was Gandalf. The three other Istari had completely given up on their obligation; Saruman had let himself be twisted to the dark ways of Sauron, and only Gandalf had stayed true to his mission – even death could not delay him for long. Elrond had been extremely glad to meet his old friend again, and gladder yet to see an old enemy who was now entirely innocent…

_Curumo appeared differently than the elder half-elf remembered him; he had previously had the likeness of a tall old man clad all in white, with long snowy-hued hair and beard; now, however, Curumo's tunic and breeches were both of dark brown, his face was much younger, and his tied-back, ebony-colored hair was shoulder-length; his beard was short, neat and tapered. A friendly glint was in his eyes as he held out a gloved hand for Elrond to shake._

"_So this is the ellon I have heard so many fascinating stories about," Curumo smiled. His voice was exactly the same as it had been, sonorous and rich. "Elrond Peredhel the First. It is indeed an honor."_

"_The honor is mine," Elrond I replied graciously, bowing his head in respect. _

_Curumo laughed, and the sound was like the ringing of hammer on anvil. "If the tales are true, then you have won nearly as much of my lord Aulë's favor as I have."_

"_Maybe so," the elder half-elf responded, "but you have no doubt spent many more years working alongside of him as I have. Also our individual 'favors' had dissimilar intentions behind them, and it was only in my direst need that Lord Aulë initiated my lessons."_

"_So I have heard," the Maia nodded. "But you possess skills that even I do not. Fire is a difficult thing to control, but you have mastered that."_

"_Only with a great deal of time and hard work, as well as a Ring of Power," said Elrond modestly. "Your skills are inbred."_

"_My skills have never been openly directed toward Morgoth," Curumo countered him. "I was most rapt to hear of your many fights – and successes – against the Dark Lord."_

"_I could **never** have succeeded without aid," Elrond I replied. "Were it not for Lord Aulë and the rest of the Valar, no doubt the world would be in complete chaos. It's a **very** long story to hear in its fullness, and I shudder to recall most of the chapters."_

"_Then put it out of your mind," Curumo told him kindly, "and let us both put our skills in practice. Will you aid me in my smith-work?"_

_So Elrond I summoned the might of fire to warm the forge ovens, and watched fascinated as his comrade hammered out bars, sheets and wires of different metals, gold and _mithril_ among them. The Maia skillfully bent and fashioned these with tongs, shaping them into a large arc. The wires were twined all around the other pieces in an elaborate, serpentine design, and some pieces of flat metal attached to them had been wrought into shapes like flowers and leaves._

"_It's beautiful," Elrond breathed, gazing down at the finished circlet as it stood cooling. He noticed just one peculiarity: a large ring-shaped hollow in the very front of the thing, which looked as though it were waiting for something to be set there. When he questioned Curumo about this, the Maia only replied mysteriously, "You yourself possess what shall fill the hole."_

_Elrond I left the mansion of Aulë with the circlet a long time afterward, still puzzling over Curumo's words._

----

_Olórin appeared almost as he had in Elrond's first life: he now wore a blue scarf overtop of his ash-grey robe, whereas he hadn't before, and perhaps his beard was a little shorter than it had been, but Elrond had known him straight away, while it had taken him a short time to grow used to Curumo's appearance._

"_Welcome," the Maia greeted the half-elf benevolently, inclining his head respectfully as Elrond did so. "We have been expecting you."_

"_Thank you," Elrond I smiled, walking forward as Olórin stepped aside, and gazing all around him in wonder as the gardens of Lórien unfurled before him. The music of drowsy nightingales crooned to him like lullabies; sweet-scented flowers and fragrant trees filled his nostrils with soothing aromas, not the least evident of which were lavender and pine. _

_Elrond I immediately felt a wonderful serenity seep through him, and he wandered forth into a shadowy labyrinth of cedars and yewtrees. Olórin strode along at his side, striking up a pleasant conversation with the elf. Both learned much about the other; Elrond gave what felt like the hundredth account of his life-story, and Olórin told the elf many things about what he had seen while wandering Valinor: the splendor of Ilmarin, the shadows of Nienna's halls, the conversations he had had with the Dead in the Halls of Mandos. The elf listened in fascination to all of this. There were so many things in Valinor to discover, he was sure he'd never see it all._

"_You may in time," Olórin smiled confidently. "In any case, you **are** immortal, and this is your final destination. All of your kindred are here, are they not?"_

"_Not all," Elrond I sighed mournfully. "My sons and my father-in-law stayed behind. I'm not certain of exactly why, but that was their choice."_

"_You may rest assured that they will in time grow weary of Arda," the Maia told him. His voice was very different when he said this; it was softer, and yet somehow stronger, laden with hope and optimism. "Someday they will choose to come home; and they will, guided by the light of Eärendil, Varda's most beloved child."_

A distant knocking sound jolted Elrond I from his contemplations, but the interruption was not entirely unwelcome. He leapt up from his overstuffed armchair to answer the front door, but in his rush, he jostled his half-open wardrobe a little, and two black boxes tumbled from a high shelf to land squarely on his head, one after the other.

Gingerly massaging his scalp, all thoughts of his waiting guest forgotten, Elrond frowned down at the boxes which now lay on the floor in front of him. A vague memory floated to the front of his mind; he was certain that something like this had happened before – with, he remembered, the smaller and dustier of the pair of boxes before him.

The larger box, Elrond knew, held the circlet made for him by Curumo. And the other… The elf smiled as he picked up the smaller box and opened it. A brilliantly-glowing jewel, like a large, perfect diamond, lay nestled in a bed of ebony-hued velvet. The last Silmaril. Now that he had it in his hand again, and could gauge its size, the elf noticed that the gem was just large enough to fit into that strange hole in his circlet…

"Elrond!" The voice – his own – slashed through his thoughts. Elrond II hurried into the room, his face flushed and eyes sparkling. "What are you standing there for? Lady Varda is here to see us! She says it's important! Oh – and you'd better bring both of those, too," he added, gesturing to the Silmaril and the box which still held the circlet. "Don't ask me how I know, just come on."

Elrond I hurried to do as he was bidden, darting from the room alongside of himself. The two halves of the elf hastened to their living-room, where Celebrían sat on a couch next to none other than Varda. The Queen of Light was as beautiful and luminous as ever, and she laughed and chatted idly with Elrond's wife as they waited patiently for the elf-lord. As Elrond nearly stumbled into the room, elf-woman and Valië both rose and smiled.

"Excellent, excellent," Varda beamed, nodding her head civilly as the half-elf bowed low. "Good, good, both of you… and you have them. Wonderful. Celebrían," she said, turning to the lady of the household, "thank you very much for your kind hospitality. But Elrond and I really must be going. We will see you tomorrow night after sunset."

Celebrían nodded with a bow, seating herself again and smoothing her skirt. "Very well, my lady."

"Where exactly are we going, my lady?" Elrond I inquired, as Varda turned elegantly on her heel toward the door.

"You will see," the Valië answered him secretively. "I will say only that you are about to meet another long-lost kinsman: one whom you have not spoken to in two Ages, but have looked upon lovingly every dusk and dawn."

It took only a moment for the half-elf to put two and two together, and all four of his eyes filled with tears. Varda gazed at him in quiet concern. "Why do you weep? I thought you would be happy."

"Oh, I am," Elrond II reassured her, sniffling and blinking as he struggled to recover his composure. "Not all tears fall in sorrow, you know. It's just that… you and your kindred have done so much for me already… I just don't really know what to say." He averted his tear-streaked face from hers.

Placing her hand under his chin, Varda gently turned the elf's face back toward herself. A soft, kind thought slipped from her mind to his: _Try saying, 'Thank you, Aunt Varda'._

Elrond smiled through his obvious tears. _Thank you, Aunt Varda._

----

An indeterminable span of time later, the half-elf and the Valië arrived gracefully at their destination: a small but well-kept cottage situated upon a high cliff on the shores of a sea, overlooking a dockside in which a single silver-timbered, swan-shaped ship was moored, shining like a huge star in the late afternoon. The vast stretch of water was not Belegaer, the Great Sea; it was the Sea that encircled the whole world and extended out to the very threshold of the Gates of Night.

Varda led her kinsman briskly round to the westward-facing front doorstep of the cottage, and quietly bade Elrond to keep out of sight, at least for the moment. The half-elven lord, feeling very much like a child playing a game of hide-and-seek, dutifully ducked behind a corner as the Valië knocked three times on the door. He felt his twin hearts leap into his throats at the sound of a voice from within.

"Coming, coming… who on earth could be calling? I _never _get visitors, none at all… yes, just a moment! You've caught me at a rather bad time, I'm afraid, I was just about to set out…"

"Rest assured, this is the most appropriate time possible," Varda called out in reply to the approaching homeowner, just before the door swung open. Elrond, remembering to keep unseen and unnoticed until otherwise stated, scarcely stifled his gasps in time.

The elf who answered the door looked almost exactly like Elrond himself, except that his eyes were silver-grey instead of light blue. The elf was clad wholly in white, his shadow-black hair fell long and straight past his broad shoulders, and a healthy, rosy flush was in his fair cheeks. Seeing the woman on the threshold, he fell reverentially to his knees and kissed the hem of her star-speckled dress.

"Lady Varda, I am truly honored."

Varda's countenance was as bright as sunshine as she smiled down upon him. "Please get up, Eärendil. There is someone here to see you."

She stepped aside, nodding to someone out of the elf's line of vision as he climbed to his feet. Eärendil waited earnestly, and felt his heart skip what must have been several beats in a row when he saw the two identical figures who had been hiding until that moment. _It couldn't be. It couldn't be…_

The two figures both smiled – smiles that were utterly impossible to tell apart – and said two words in one and the same voice: "Hello, Father."

_It was._

The mariner stood in dumbfounded shock for a few long moments, and then a laugh that was half a sob leapt from his throat. He came forward and flung his arms around his elder son in both of his bodies, ignoring the tears that freely soaked his face as he wept for joy. Elrond I and II were crying as well, and Varda was beaming (in more ways than one).

"Elrond," Eärendil whispered, staring deep into his son's faces, "Elrond, my boy… of all the things I've seen in my lifetime, this is without a doubt the most splendid of them all."

"I know," Elrond I murmured into his father's ear, together with Elrond II. "I know."

The mariner's eyes flicked upward, taking in the multicolored sky that heralded nightfall. Arien was guiding the Sun ever closer to the western horizon. Eärendil grinned suddenly as he clapped his son on the shoulder. "It's getting late – we'd better be off. We've got a long journey ahead of us."

"'We'?" Elrond II frowned.

"Of course!" his father cried. "I'm not sailing _Vingilot_ alone tonight. We'll fly together – the three of us. If, of course, my lady is willing," he added, bowing to Varda.

"I would be nothing less than delighted to accompany you," the Valië replied. "Lead on."


	79. Flight and Fright

**Chapter Seventy-Eight: Flight and Fright**

_Vingilot_ rocked gently in the shadowy sea as Eärendil and his kinsfolk walked aboard the great ship one at a time. Elrond I smiled in fond remembrance of an Age long gone, when he had helped to build this very craft, just a few days after he had been born. The absolute incongruity of the notion made him grin. Eärendil seemed to notice, and chuckled quietly as he strode about the main deck, making doubly certain that everything was 'shipshape'. "It's odd how some things work out, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," the elder half-elf nodded. "I've done some pretty odd things in this second lifetime of mine."

"Go on then, try me," his father urged.

"Where do I start?" Elrond I sighed. "Rearing myself from infancy, for one thing; making friends with a Kinslayer (who is now _entirely_ redeemed, I might add); being regarded as family by the Valar, and doing the same in return; battling Morgoth and his minions with the Valar's help, sixteen times in more than six thousand years; surviving a life I thought I knew, but didn't… shall I carry on?"

"Why not just give the whole story?" Eärendil suggested, his eyes twinkling as he hoisted up a long rope that held the ship's anchor in place. "I've only seen so much of it from the skies, and occasionally in visions. We've got all night ahead of us, after all."

Elrond I nodded, smiling as Elrond II came to his side. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment a great burst of wind surged toward them from the east, filling _Vingilot_'s silvery sails to their fullest extent. The elf clung to the starboard railing to steady himself as the ship seemed to charge forward, borne swiftly to the west over the vast, dark ocean. In a matter of instants the Gates of Night loomed up before them, every bit as formidable as they had been in Elrond's sight before. But things were different now. He was safe, tucked tenderly under the strong arm of his father, and bathed in the light of the Silmaril. No evil could reach him here.

Eärendil left his son's side quite reluctantly and moved up to the tiller, gripping the wheel in his capable hands. The mariner was truly in his element now, but it was not the sea he was sailing. In fact, they had left that far behind them, and were ascending gradually into the heavens, with the night's first stars around them – huge, pulsing orbs of what looked to be viscous light, just barely close enough for him to touch.

Elrond II carefully reached out and poked a star, and was rewarded by a pleasantly tingly feeling in the tip of his finger. The star felt somewhat like a ball of tepid jelly, and a little of it came off on his finger; he couldn't help but giggle childishly. Varda smiled benignly when she saw this. "What did you expect the dew of Telperion to feel like?"

Elrond II smiled down at the thick glowing stuff on his finger. "Why does everyone think the stars are dusty? 'Stardust' is an incredibly common word, but it isn't really true at all. Stars are… wet and sticky." He sniggered. "I have stargoo on my finger."

"Hold on tight," Eärendil called to them. "I'm turning sharply!"

Varda calmly held both Elrond I and II steady as they overbalanced and threatened to fall over regardless of their father's warning. The Star-Queen was perfectly stable, despite the ship's vehement lurch as it swerved abruptly eastward, wheeling through the rose-colored twilight sky far above the Gates of Night.

Elrond I glanced over his shoulder to where Arien still guided the Sun westward, and was now about to follow them through the Gates of Night. He couldn't be sure, but for a brief second he thought he saw the figure of a woman, wreathed completely in bright gold fire, raising her hand to wave to him as she flew. The elf waved back just in case, feeling quite giddy now with exhilaration; it showed plainly in the huge grin on his face.

"Look down," Varda suggested, pointing over the railing of the ship, to all that lay below _Vingilot_'s keel. Eagerly Elrond obeyed her, and both halves of the elf let out gasps of rapt awe. All of Valinor lay spread out beneath them, like a gigantic three-dimensional map in full color.

There were the Gates of Night, black and fearful; the Outer Sea, endlessly rippling in the darkness; the halls of Nienna, side-by-side with those of her eldest brother, Mandos; the great ridge of the Pelori, and the mansion of Ilmarin upon the towering, snowy mount of Taniquetil; the hall of Tulkas, its many stories and towers gleaming bronze and copper in the sunset; Formenos, the abandoned citadel of the Fëanorians in the North; the halls and gardens of Lórien, shady labyrinths of trees, winding on for miles around the mountains; the mansion of Aulë, with workshops and smithies, and an immense courtyard containing every kind of tree imaginable, and a deep pool of blue water between them; the glittering city of Tirion, with walls like pearl, silvery towers and stairs of crystal; west of the city, a dark lake called Shadowmere; the white haven of Alqualondë on the eastern shores of the Undying Lands; and Elwing's ivory tower, ever-sentient, overlooking the Great Sea. And from the highest window of that tower, a cloud-white shape soaring up to them on silver-tipped wings…

"Elwing!" Eärendil cried jubilantly. "Right on time! How are you, love?"

"I'm bone-tired, dearest!" Elwing shouted up in answer, her swan-like beak clicking with each word she spoke. Spotting Varda as she rose on a current of warm air, she bobbed her noble, feathered head in respect for a brief moment, and dipped a little lower in the sky as she did so.

Pumping her wide, strong wings heartily up and down, Elwing flapped over to _Vingilot_'s starboard railing, where Elrond and Varda helped her readily aboard. Once she was safely at rest upon the deck's solid timbers, she effortlessly resumed her elven form and brushed her deep brown hair out of her eyes as she stood up and caught her breath.

"Good evening, everyone," she panted, smiling rather breathlessly as she neatened herself up. Her three companions smiled back and nodded, and her husband and son hurried forth to hug her. Elrond I, remembering the two boxes in his arms, set those down carefully on the floor before he folded his mother in a fond embrace.

Elwing frowned down at the containers as she pulled away from her son a bit. "What are those?"

"This," he replied, picking up the larger box and pulling off the lid to reveal its contents, "is the circlet that was made for me by Curumo, a Maia of Lord Aulë. As you see, it still needs a little something to fill that hole there. And _this_…" He smiled, opening the smaller box and holding it out so the others could see inside. "_This_ is what will fill that hole."

Eärendil gasped as Elrond's Silmaril was revealed, pouring out its radiance perhaps more brilliantly than that of its counterpart, which resided high on _Vingilot_'s mainmast to serve as her dazzling lantern. The mariner's eyes were wide in shock, but he grinned as he took the jewel and the unfinished circlet into his hands, and carefully pushed the Silmaril into the deliberately-crafted hole. It was a perfect fit.

"Now let's see you put it on," Elwing smiled to her son.

"I couldn't." Elrond I declined the suggestion modestly. "Really, I don't think I'd look at all right in it."

"Curumo thought that you would," Varda put in evenly. "Why not give it one endeavor?"

Elrond I knew better than to disobey; he stood still and acquiescent as his father brought the circlet down to rest upon his brow. The object's weightiness surprised him at first, but he stood tall, yet still a little humble. A blush of humility suffused his face.

"Like father, like son," Elwing smiled fondly, observing the two side-by-side. Eärendil's arm was draped around his son's shoulders, holding him tenderly close, and Elrond I was doing the same. Elrond II stood to hand, next to Varda, not knowing just what to do with himself. But they all glanced up in diversion as a strange, stuttering voice called out from somewhere beside the ship.

"H-hail Varda, High Q-queen of the Light! Hail Eärendil, most b-beloved of the Children of Earth, b-bearer of light before the S-sun and M-moon, splendor of the dawn and th-the dusk! H-hail Elwing, d-daughter of the s-seas and the s-s-skies! H-hail Elrond, b-brother of the Valar, d-defeater of M-M-Morgoth!"

A glimmering figure, clothed in silver from head to foot, wearing a horned circlet on his brow and clutching what appeared to be a large, blazing lamp in his right hand, came into sight some distance away from the ship's port side. His white hair flowed out behind him like a banner of mist, and his bright blue eyes gleamed like twin sapphires. He zigzagged most hesitantly through the heavens, speeding up and slowing down by turns. Sometimes he halted completely for a few moments, muttered anxiously to himself as he hovered in midair, and hurried to take flight again.

Varda laughed brightly, and called out in answer. "Hail and well met, Tilion, guardian of the light of Telperion!"

Eärendil's eyebrows came practically up to his hairline as he looked to Elrond I and II for answers. "'Defeater of Morgoth?' Now I _really_ need to hear the whole story."

"I highly doubt that I can remember it all, even blessed as I am with two brains," Elrond I replied, glancing at his younger counterpart. "The only person I know who could possibly recall _everything_ in detail is Lord Mandos." He laughed. "Should I call him?"

"There will be no need for that," the Doomsman smiled, whirling sinuously into vision in front of the three elves and the Valië, and smiling kindly as Elrond and his parents bowed low to him. "Where would you—"

He was cut off by Tilion's voice calling from a distance: "H-hail Námo, D-Doomsman of the V-Valar, Master of S-S-Spirits!"

"Yes, that will do, Tilion," Mandos replied serenely, before finishing his earlier sentence. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"Just after the sack of Sirion will be fine, thank you, sire," Elwing told him politely.

"Very well," the Vala nodded. "After so ruthlessly ransacking your haven, the eldest two sons of Fëanor rode to the house of Maedhros with your young sons and their godfather, both of them under the impression that they had captured Eärendil, rather than Elrond the First, along with the young twins…"

Elrond I shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut as wave after wave of memory broke over him. His entire life, except for the first four years of it, flashed with frightening intensity across the backs of his eyelids, setting all of his senses on edge. Faces of friends and foes, words of hope and anguish, sensations, scents and tastes of things that once had been, but now were long gone.

Tears of mourning, fury, happiness and homesickness seared his eyes and cheeks as they slipped one by one from between the prison bars that were his eyelashes. The elf blinked them away and looked up again, just as his father yelped, "His soul was _unraveling?_ How on earth was it stopped?"

"I am getting to that," Mandos replied serenely. "Yes, your son's soul was indeed coming apart, and yes, the reaction was halted, but not for many thousands of years. It was by the actions of Vairë that Elrond was saved, as she wove him back into the fabric of Time."

Eärendil nodded in understanding. "Yes, of course… Please continue."

This time, both Elrond I and II succumbed to the throbbing pulse of the relentless tide of reminiscence, as Mandos' mellifluous voice led them gradually on through time. None of the elves could help but be happy at the recitation of Varda's banishment of Sauron from Mithlond; they cried together as the demise of Celebrimbor was recounted, then wept and rejoiced in turns as the details of the War of the Last Alliance unfolded.

Mandos recalled bitterly the nearly fatal assault of Halanor upon Celebrían, speaking just over Eärendil's enraged guttural noises and Elrond II's subdued tears; he smiled to share the joy that came with the births of Elrond's children. He detailed everything pertinent to the half-elf, marching steadily forward through the count of Ages: the wedding of Arwen and Voronwë; the joyful birth of Caranel II, and the nearly concurrent, terrible fourteenth attack of Morgoth; Elrond I and Voronwë's all-but-fatal confrontation at the bottom of the river Bruinen; and last, but certainly not least, the Chesswar, the horrific conclusion to Morgoth's attempt to destroy Elrond – and the rest of the world – forever.

"The Dark Lord _kissed _you?" Eärendil yelped, cutting the Doomsman's voice short as the cry of revolted shock burst from his tongue. "On the **_lips?_**"

"Yes," replied a mortified Elrond II, his ears burning at the memory. "Although it wasn't really a kiss, as it were; he was trying to possess me. And then I skewered him."

"_Skewered?_"

"Like a kebab," the Vala nodded proudly, laying a hand on Elrond II's shoulder. "Albeit, an outsized, living, black, foul and entirely _evil_ kebab," he added, a smile flickering upon his lips, "spitted through his belly on an icicle seven feet long. He will not easily forget or forgive you for that, you can be certain."

"Neither will I," Elrond II answered icily. Then, bizarrely, his face softened. "Then again, I suppose this is all his fault, isn't it? If he hadn't been so hell-bent on annihilating me—" he glanced at Elrond I "—I would never have been forced to go back and live my life all over again, so nothing would have been changed… well, actually, _everything_ would have been changed, wouldn't it? The world as I knew it would have been destroyed, right?"

"Yes," Mandos concurred. "And the last memories you would have had then, would have been memories of nothing but emptiness and utter hopelessness."

"So," Elrond I spoke up, "I suppose, in some sick, twisted and completely unnatural way, I should be _indebted_ to Morgoth. If it weren't for him, my daughter would now be in your Halls, I would nearly have lost my wife to a poisoned sword, I wouldn't have been able to spend those two wonderful, blessed years with Ada…" (Eärendil's eyes brimmed with tears) "…I would never have found such great friendship and love among the Valar, and the world would have been reduced to total darkness and chaos, dominated by Morgoth." He shivered, as though he could foretaste the horror he had detailed.

"That describes it quite thoroughly," the Doomsman nodded.

They soared on through the inky sky, as the hours ticked slowly by. Elrond I and II gazed frequently down at the marvelous vista below; the land of Middle-earth, spanning west to east from the Great Sea to the Empty Lands. The half-elf noticed randomly that dark grey clouds had gathered over Imladris; it must have been storming heavily.

"What was it like, the day you went back in time?" Eärendil asked Elrond I conversationally.

"Well," he replied reminiscently, "it was a night very much like Rivendell is having now – dark, cold and rainy, in early autumn: September the fifth, as I seem to remember. I had been terribly depressed for months, even though I was getting ready to sail to Valinor in a few weeks' time. My sons tried to raise my spirits by recounting the things I had done in my lifetime – _that_ lifetime, at least – that were of significance or benefit to the world.

"But I was still utterly dejected, and eventually I fell asleep at my desk, where I dreamt of Lords Mandos and Lorien, who told me of the frighteningly high potential for my fading from the world's design. They brought me back in time and space, to the gates of Sirion, where you found me and took me into your home. The rest is history," Elrond I chuckled.

"September the fifth, eh?" Eärendil mused. "How very ironic – that's tonight. And unless I'm getting my years and dates wrong, the year you arrived in Valinor was two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-eight of the Third Age. That was about two hundred and eighty-three years ago. Add that together and you get three thousand and twenty-one – isn't that the year you went back in time?"

Elrond I nodded, absentmindedly wiping his face with a handkerchief. "Does anyone else find it exceptionally warm here?"

"W-_warm?_" his godson repeated in disbelief through unusually chattering teeth, sounding somewhat like Tilion. "How in Arda c-can you be sweaty? I'm f-_freezing!_ I c-can't even feel my f-f-feet!"

"I have no idea at all," Elrond I replied faintly, looking up a little as his mother hurried to his side and felt his forehead anxiously.

"You do feel awfully febrile," she said uneasily. "And, oh, Elrond—" (she had just taken Elrond II's hand into her own) "—_you_ feel like ice! What in Arda is going on?" she cried, growing more and more frantic by the second.

"Please remain calm, all of you," Mandos told the others evenly. With one hand upon the back of each half of Elrond, he gently nudged them closer together. Elrond I immediately held his godson close to his sweltering body, hoping to use Elrond II's chill to soothe his livid warmth, while Elrond II embraced his godfather for the purpose of obtaining much-needed body heat. From there, the eeriness only spiraled…


	80. Once and Forever

**Chapter Seventy-Nine: Once and Forever**

"What in Arda _is_ going on?" Elrond I fearfully repeated his mother's words, gazing about him wildly and eventually locking eyes with Mandos. The Doomsman's eyes were weird, clouded; he sent out a steady stream of thoughts from his mind to the elder elf's. Elrond I slowly relaxed, pulling slightly back from his younger counterpart and gazing deeply into those terrified, tear-filled blue eyes that were his own.

_Answer me this,_ Mandos whispered into the elf's two minds. _What are the substances by which you have lived, and have used to fight against Morgoth?_

_Fire,_ Elrond I murmured mentally, at just the same time as Elrond II breathed, _Ice._

There was an uncanny, mingled crackling noise from floor level, and everyone except for Mandos gasped in dread-laced awe. Elrond I's toes were wreathed in a rising orange fire, while Elrond II's were sheathed in smooth blue-green ice. Water was pooling under them where the ice was slowly melting, and steam rose in wisps from the fire that was put out. Elrond II was stiff with fear, and every so often he whimpered fretfully. But Elrond I was fully calm, soothed and reassured by the Doomsman's mental words, which he relayed to his godson in a whisper. But the younger elf's terror did not abate in the slightest.

Eärendil made as though to lunge forward, but Mandos halted him with a brief motion of his hand. The mariner suddenly found himself rooted to the deck, unable to move his feet. He gazed helplessly on as fire and ice crackled and hissed upward inch by inch, and thick clouds of steam obscured the unnatural spectacle.

The fire and ice had by now reached Elrond's shins, and were crawling speedily up to his knees. The two halves of the elf stood somewhat apart, no longer in an embrace, but now holding hands. Their eyes were locked, a serene pair with a petrified one. Over the sound of spitting fire and dripping water they could distinguish their mother and father's voices, pleading with the Doomsman for answers, and apparently receiving none.

"My lord, _please,_" Eärendil was very nearly sobbing, "what is going on? If nothing else, tell me if my son is in danger!"

"He is perfectly safe," Mandos answered in a strange, hollow voice. "It will all be over in a matter of moments…"

Eärendil and his wife watched and waited in agony, straining to see past the veil of steam. Just beyond their sight, Elrond I and II stood gazing into each other's eyes as they burned and froze. The flame and frost had passed the elf's two waists, and was inching up toward his chests. As all this was happening, Elrond I spoke soothingly to his godson, by the use of the thoughts he received from Mandos.

_No matter what takes place in the future, remember this: you will be well. The Darkness is beyond you now; nothing can hurt you anymore._

_But what's going to happen?_ Elrond II wondered silently. _To you, to me? To everyone?_

His own voice reached his mind like good-natured laughter. _Life will go on, Elrond, just not as it was before. It will be almost as it would have been, as it should have. Trust me._

Elrond II struggled to breathe as the ice enclosed his chest, and compressed it powerfully. Elrond I's torso was ablaze, and the flames had caught his hair and hissed up to the crown of his head, heightening his resemblance to a lion with a fiery mane. Only the elder half-elf's face and neck were able to be seen now, unscathed. His lips were curled upward in a smile, and his godson smiled feebly back.

Fire and ice climbed higher still, snapping, stealing over skin of throats and chins, sealing lips firmly shut, clotting nostrils and ears. But Elrond I and II could still see each other, if only for the moment. As the younger elf's eyes frosted over, and the elder's wept tears of boiling water, Elrond I whispered one last reassurance to himself. _You will be fine._

He folded his burning arms tight around the frozen statue of his godson, allowing his fires to melt the ice, and to be extinguished themselves. The steam all around them completely concealed them; neither their parents nor the two Valar could see them. All that Eärendil, Elwing, Mandos and Varda could discern was the faint _thump_ of something falling to the deck, and the sharp hiss of steam. But, as the cloudy curtain dissipated, they could see the lone figure, on his hands and knees in a growing pool of water on the deck, head bowed, shuddering and sobbing…

Eärendil leapt forth in desperation a second time, and this time he succeeded. He hurried to the trembling, dripping wet figure's side, lifting his head and gazing into the ash-white, tear-streaked face. Two dull blue eyes met his own, and the mariner whispered nervously, "Elrond?"

"F-Father?" The stuttering reply hissed out from between faltering lips as the cloudy eyes blinked a few times and cleared, focusing on Eärendil's face. The mariner nodded mutely as a smile found his mouth and settled there. Gently he grasped Elrond's hand and pulled him to his feet, where he stood unsteadily. Eärendil (and Elwing, as she rushed forward) both carefully supported the drenched elf, feeling his incessant tremors only too well.

"But _which_ Elrond is he?" Elwing asked in confusion, as they led their son carefully back to where Mandos and Varda still stood in silence. "The First or the Second?"

"He is technically both, and as such, he is the _only_ Elrond," the Doomsman answered her, smiling benignly. "Time has amended itself at last. Your son is now as he was in the life previous to this one – as he was always ultimately meant to be. He will never be sundered into two halves again, spiritually or otherwise."

Elrond, the one and only, gazed dumbly up into Varda's face as the Valië seemingly drew a thick, woolen blanket out of thin air and draped it kindly around his quaking shoulders. She accepted his weak, soundless smile of thanks with a gentle nod, turning her head a bit to one side as another woman's voice spoke up softly.

"Elrond is in great need of rest. Perhaps I should take him into my care, for what remains of the night."

"Indeed you should, Estë," Mandos nodded to the grey-clad woman who had just arrived on deck. "He certainly deserves every bit of the rest he can acquire."

The Healer nodded, taking Elrond gently underneath his arm and steering him toward the stairs that led below. Eärendil called after them, "You'll find some clean nightshirts in the topmost drawer of the chest in my bedroom. Elrond can wear one of those."

Eärendil, Elwing and their Valarin companions all stared long after the retreating half-elf and Valië; the elven husband and wife were uncertain whether to smile or not, the Star-Queen was smiling slightly, the Doomsman was solemn. A hush had fallen over the ship, broken only by the occasional creak of _Vingilot_'s rigging or the flap of her sails. Mandos was the first to break the silence, addressing Eärendil and his wife.

"Perhaps you both should get some rest as well," he advised them good-naturedly. "I will mind the helm for the rest of the night in your stead, if you wish," he told Eärendil.

"Thank you very much, my lord," the mariner nodded. "I would greatly appreciate that."

----

Mandos sighed silently as he leaned against the ship's tiller, his head bowed, and his pale hands clenched on two spokes of the white wooden wheel. Now, in the quiet and solitude of the autumn night, the Doomsman was finally freed to let his true emotions flood out of his heart, unhindered and unnoticed. Tears speckled wood and skin alike as sobs wracked the Vala's slender frame, and limitless memories poured into his soul. Every one of those memories was of the very same person. Elrond the First. Elrond the Second. _Elrond._ And every one of those memories echoed with the same bitter thought.

_I love him. I truly love him, and all I wish is for that feeling to be returned unto me… but how can that be, if he still has not accepted my devotions after five thousand years? How can he ever comprehend? I cannot attempt to **force** him to love me in return, I know this. But it has been so long, and he cannot accept something as pure and simple as love… the love of a brother…_

But something else in him stood up, and spoke out. _Why am I asking these questions? Am I not all-knowing, as Eru has decreed? **Why,** then, do these questions persevere? I should **know** the answers! I must know! Eru, why do you torment me in this way? Are you hiding this knowledge even from **me?** Why? I have done nothing but carry out Your will!_

The answer came to him in a voice like thunder sighing in the wind.

NÁMO, MY SON, I AM SORRY THAT IT MUST BE THIS WAY. YES, THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT I HAVE KEPT CONCEALED FROM YOU – THINGS YOU WERE NOT MEANT TO COMPREHEND YET, AND SOME THINGS WHICH YOU FOUND OUT LONG AGO. BUT THOSE THAT ARE STILL HIDDEN WILL ALL BE REALIZED SOONER THAN YOU EXPECT.

_How?_ Mandos whispered, lifting his tear-filled eyes to the great, empty skies above. _How and when?_

WAIT AND SEE, MY CHILD. ALL WILL SOON BE WELL.

Mandos nodded once in compliance, wholly trusting his Creator. He looked back down to the ship's tiller, and up again, to what lay before _Vingilot_'s prow, far in the distance – the eastern Walls of the World, and the Gates of Morning. The Doomsman allowed himself a single, brief smile, which just as soon flipped upside-down and became a look of dismay when he heard a distraught, whimpering call in some back corner of his mind.

_Mandos… Mandos… Mandos…_

----

Eärendil gazed down in silent trepidation at his only son, who lay shivering, sweating and twitching agitatedly in the mariner's bed. The half-elf's face was the yellowish hue of old parchment, with neither a fevered pink flush, nor an icy blue tinge; his eyes were tightly shut, and he moaned and mumbled incomprehensibly under his breath.

Estë sat at Elrond's bedside, struggling – yes, struggling! – to pacify the unnatural squall of heat and cold within his body. Lórien sat on Elrond's other side with his palm held flat against the elf's moist, sweaty forehead, trying his hardest to reach his friend's mind with a stream of soothing thoughts. Varda and Elwing both looked on in helpless silence, like the mariner.

Pearly tears slipped down Estë's cheeks one by one as she poured out her healing energy for her kinsman. This was unlike anything she had ever attempted to heal before. Under a normal set of circumstances Elrond would have been completely well long ago. But now, now his muttering became louder, his tremors more fitful.

Lórien, too, battled all the more distraughtly to soothe his friend. Elrond's thoughts were a maelstrom of cries, so many cries, that the Dream-lord could scarcely discern one from another. But one suddenly keened into his head like an eagle's shriek, making him flinch back in shock. A name blazed in Lórien's mind (almost the last one he had expected), and he started to speak it aloud.

"We need—"

"Me," the Doomsman finished for his brother as he whirled into the room, even before he was fully corporeal. "Elrond called out for me."

Lórien nodded, but just as soon noticed something different about the stricken half-elf in the bed. Elrond's breathing had inexplicably eased, his muttering had halted, and he was no longer shaking. His skin was slowly regaining a healthy tone as his body relaxed. The others, even Mandos, stared down at Elrond in utter awe. The Dream-lord was the first to speak.

"How is this possible, Námo? You had only to enter this room, and you accomplished in an instant what Estë and I have been fighting to do for nearly an hour! What happened?"

"He called for me, and I answered him," Mandos replied faintly, moving closer to Elrond and putting a pale hand on his cheek. He smiled as the elf's lips relaxed into a contented smile. "And something which has driven me to tears for five thousand years has only now become perfectly clear. I should have listened to you long before, Irmo… you knew it all along."

"What could I possibly have known that you did not?" Lórien asked in confusion.

Mandos' eyes brimmed with tears of happiness as he gazed into the half-elf's serene face, and he answered in an elated murmur, "Elrond loves me every bit as deeply as I love him. It was my love he wanted now, mine above all… he has accepted my feelings for him at last. He and I finally fully understand each other."

----

Elrond came awake slowly, blinking and wincing as a sharp shaft of sunlight lanced into his unsuspecting eyes. He certainly wasn't aboard _Vingilot_ anymore, he realized as he sat up, brushed his rather disheveled hair out of his face and took in his surroundings.

The bed he lay in wasn't one of the hammock-like things he had seen in his father's ship; it was a real bed, with a proper frame, mattress and headboard. The sunlight was filtering through a marginal opening in the curtains of a window just above his head, illuminating a nightstand to the right of the bed, as well as the items sitting on it; the box that held his Silmaril circlet, and some small thing that was covered in a section of dark blue cloth, to conceal the bright light that the object seemed to be giving off. Uncovering the thing with interest, the half-elf smiled when he saw that it was a small glass bottle, filled with a pale pearly white, gently pulsing jellylike substance: stargoo, he soon realized.

A short distance away from the foot of the bed, a small stack of neatly-folded clothes sat on top of a desk amid scattered parchment scrolls, but far from the threat of splattered ink offered by stray quills and upturned inkwells. Standing against the far wall, in the right-hand corner was a lofty wardrobe, just a few feet from the bedroom door, which was even now creaking slowly open. A tall figure stood silhouetted on the doorstep, soon revealed to be Eärendil. Seeing that his son was awake, the mariner called into the room, grinning.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead! Luncheon's all prepared and waiting for you on the table in the dining room downstairs. Don't let it go cold!"

Slightly reluctantly, Elrond left the warm, cozy comfort of his bed as his father departed, and retrieved the clothes awaiting him on the desk. Shrugging off his nightshirt, he drew a clean shirt and tunic over his head, and pulled on a fresh pair of breeches, then tidied up his hair in front of a mirror he found on the inside of the wardrobe door. After a minute's hesitation, he turned back to the bedside table and put on his circlet as well, then hurried to find the dining room, chuckling to himself as he did. "'Rise and shine', indeed."

"Well, well, look who's up and about." Elwing smiled as her son entered the dining room a few minutes later. She was seated at a small, circular table between her husband and an empty chair, with Varda, Estë, Mandos and Lórien taking up four other seats. The half-elf bowed low to the Valar, who smiled and nodded in reply as Elrond sat down in the empty seat between his mother and Lórien, and breathed in the tantalizing aromas that rose from the laden plate under his nose.

"I hope you rested well," the Dream-lord smiled conversationally.

"Very well, thank you," Elrond nodded gratefully, glancing at both Lórien and Estë as he spoke.

"You certainly deserved it, after such a trying night," Varda said sagely, serenely picking up her fork and lading it with salad.

"Trying, indeed," agreed Mandos, "but I hope it was also enjoyable?"

"Enjoyable?" Elrond repeated, smiling benignly. "There's the understatement of the Age. I can honestly say that last night was quite possibly the most wonderful night of my life. The only time I've been as happy as I was then, is when I was dead." He laughed. "How many living elves can say that truthfully … 'when I was dead'?"

"Apart from you, only one," the Doomsman informed him. "Have you ever met an elf by the name of Glorfindel? He was slaughtered by a Balrog, and he resided in my Halls for a time before being re-embodied."

Elrond frowned pensively. "The name rings a bell."

"I knew him," Eärendil spoke up suddenly. "Glorfindel of Gondolin… He died protecting my people from the Balrog, dragged down to his death from a mountain peak, by the long golden hair he was named for."

"Correct," Mandos nodded, spearing a morsel of ham on his fork and lifting it to his lips. "And as much as I would love to continue reminiscing about history, my digestive system urges me strongly to choose otherwise."

The seven companions dined in silence at first, until a clever remark from Eärendil ("The food must be simply _superb,_ because no-one's talking at all!") effectively broke the quiet, and drove both elves and Valar alike to merriment. Now they laughed and jested between bites and sips. Several minutes into the meal, Elrond clicked his spoon lightly against his wineglass for silence, then got to his feet and lifted the goblet.

"I would like to give a toast," he announced. "To the many, many people of the past and the present (some of whom are gathered here), who have devoted so many years of their lives for the aid of one elf, and ultimately the whole world… without all of your help, the earth as we know it would be nonexistent. Everyone, both the Living and Dead, owe their existences to you. We cannot thank you enough."

As the others stood and drank from their own glasses, Mandos replied to his friend's toast with his own. "And to _you,_ Elrond Peredhel, son of Eärendil the Mariner and Elwing the White. You, more than anyone, have proven it true that even a Vala who thought he knew everything can still learn many things about life, and most importantly of all, about love." The Doomsman smiled, even as a silvery tear left a long, damp trail down his pale cheek. "I cannot thank _you_ enough."

----

Elrond couldn't recall ever being so completely blissful as he was on that blessed, golden afternoon in his father's cottage. Then again, he reasoned, it was very different seeing the world through two eyes than through four. Taking up just half as much space on the earth as he had for the past six and a half millennia would certainly take some getting used-to, not to mention the burden of two lifetimes' worth of memory shoved into one brain. How Mandos ever managed to (apparently) readily tolerate at least a hundred times that much, he would never know.

The half-elf smiled as he absently watched the stargoo in its bottle palpitating, and almost wriggling. Every so often a small globule would come free of the main mass, and drift for a minute before reattaching itself and merging with the larger blob. All the while the stuff gave off a steady white light.

"Elrond?" said a soft, sorrowful voice.

Elrond looked up at his father, whose eyes told the whole story of what was inevitably on his tongue. Not another word needed to be said by the mariner, for his son understood the truth already.

"It's almost sunset, isn't it?"

Eärendil nodded, tears glistening candidly in his eyes as he enfolded his son in a tight but gentle embrace. They both knew what the fall of night meant for them. Eärendil would go on another flight across the sky, and Elrond would return home to his wife, never to meet his father face to face again.

Elrond didn't even realize that he'd been crying until his sobs had stopped, and his breath came in hiccupping gasps. Over his father's shoulder he saw Varda, Mandos, Lórien and Estë, all waiting in silence for something. The Doomsman and the Dream-lord came forth as the two elves slowly parted, and the younger of the two Valarin brothers placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"This isn't a 'forever' farewell," he said sympathetically, noticing the wetness of the elf's eyes. "Now that you have been restored to your rightful form, the work that Námo and I began so long ago is finished at last. But we will always be near if you wish to be with us. I will not tell you not to weep; you know as well as I that not all tears are an evil."

"Very true," Elrond nodded, blinking hard, "but not all tears are shed in sorrow, either."

Lórien laughed softly, allowing his own tears to spill over as his kinsman embraced him. As they finally pulled away, the Dream-lord lightly kissed the elf's cheek and murmured, "My halls will always welcome you." Then he drifted quietly back to let his elder brother come forward.

Mandos was extremely nervous, Elrond felt it in a moment. But the Doomsman managed to smile when he spoke. "I wish I could say the same as Irmo, in regards to any welcomes from my realm."

Elrond also smiled. "Don't worry. Those twenty-four hours you gave me were beautiful."

Considerably encouraged by this, the Vala went on, "And these three Ages have been far better than even I could have known. Do not look so surprised," he laughed at the look on Elrond's face. "It appears I am not quite as omniscient as I always thought. Eru, for some purpose or another, decided to hide several fragments of His knowledge from me. Those included the full extent of your feelings, and the result of this relationship."

The half-elf stood in an awestruck silence. Mandos had _not_ known about his feelings, he had never before realized the true, untainted passion of love… but now he did. **Now,** just at the point of completion of this journey.

"What I mean to say," Mandos continued, "is that your presence in my life at such a deep and personal level has affected me greatly. You offered me friendship; you inadvertently showed me how to perceive emotions beyond my two previous, vague brushes with pity; you have, in short, given me everything I needed to dwell easily among people to whom sentiment and kindness are second nature.

"You gave me an entirely fresh outlook on life as a whole – which is itself a novelty, for the primary purpose of my existence, as decreed by Eru, has been in ordaining a place on the earth for life's strict opposite, death. This has truly changed not only you and I, but all of Arda. Things will be very different from now on because of what you have done."

"But, if it hadn't been for the involvement of everyone I know," Elrond spoke up, "things wouldn't have turned out this way at all."

"Indeed," the Doomsman agreed. "But it is with these tidings that I fear I must leave you. The single purpose for which I came to you has been fulfilled. You have no more need of my involvement in your life." His dark cerulean eyes were noticeably moist.

"Do you know that for a _fact?_" Elrond asked him gently.

Mandos blinked several times, his lips flickering between a smile and a frown. "You tell me, then. Am I to no longer be part of your life?"

"No," the half-elf answered. "I have spent the past six and a half millennia with you, and I would truly, deeply love for you to remain a part of my life. Even if your halls can't be open to me, my house will always be open to you. That goes for all of your kindred also," he added, looking to Varda, Lórien and Estë. "I would be honored if you would choose to visit. There will even be extra space for accommodation, what with me only needing one bedroom now." He laughed, and the others smiled.

"We would all be most honored to visit you, I am sure," Varda told him. "But I am afraid it is time for us to depart." The Sun was almost at the horizon.

Eärendil drew a rather tremulous breath, but all of the tears he could weep for his son had already been shed. He just nodded mutely, bowing to the assembled Valar as he moved to the door, with Elwing walking slowly behind.

Lórien and Estë, having said and done all they could, vanished in a silken grey whirl. But Mandos lingered for a moment, still facing Elrond, with a tiny smile resting upon his lips. And the elf stared into the Vala's eyes, and sent a very polite thought. _If I may, sir…_

He had to stand on his toes to reach so high, and Mandos deliberately stooped a little to help him, but Elrond never looked away from the Doomsman's eyes as he very carefully, very politely, very gently, touched his lips to Mandos' cheek. He couldn't help but shiver at the feeling of the cold, soft skin against his mouth, and the Vala smiled apologetically. Then he himself returned the elf's action.

For a moment the two kinsmen just gazed at each other in a respectful hush; then Mandos smiled and, unexpectedly, laughed. Elrond raised an eyebrow at him, inquiring, "What is so amusing, may I ask?"

"I was only contemplating an adage that could never before have been said of you in this lifetime, yet now rings completely true," the Doomsman answered.

"What might that be?" Elrond ventured.

Mandos' eyes shone as he laughed. "You have faced many tests and trials, and you have made it through them all in one piece."

The merriment of an elf and a Vala mingled as they clasped hands, and departed from the house of Eärendil in a whirl of robes. It was the end of a very long day, and the beginning of the rest of several immortal lives. No-one wanted it any other way.

**The End**


End file.
